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CLARE LINCOLN. 


A NOVEL. 


BT 


DECIUS S. WADE. 



CAMBRIDGE: 

^rintclJ at tJjc Ulitjecisitie 

1876. 



COPTIUOHT, 1876, 

By DECIUS S. WADE. 


RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 


e. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY 


COI^TEITTS. 


♦— 

CHAP. PAGE 

I. Richard Pembroke 7 

II. Charles and Julia Pembroke 15 

III. Childhood and Youth 23 

IV. Clouds and Shadows 35 

V. Struggles and Hopes 49 

VI. Waiting 60 

VII. Clare Lincoln 67 

VIII. The Sword of Bunker Hill ..... 80 

IX. War’s Alarms 91 

X. Drifting along 106 

XI. Clare 117 

XH. New Scenes 128 

XIII. A Stranger 143 

XIV. Peril 155 

XV. May 175 

XVI. Peace 182 

XVII. Meeting of the Rivals 191 

XVIII. Revenge 203 

XIX. Popper and Sharp, Attorneys at Law . . . 212 

XX. The Triple Alliance 225 

XXI. The Work of a Night . 237 

XXII. Another Night’s Work 251 

XXIII. Clare in Europe . 266 

XXIV. Berlin . . • 273 

XXV. The Answer 285 

XXVI. Richard 301 

XXVII. Home again 306 

XXVIII. Mustering the Forces 322 

XXIX. To-morrow 335 

XXX. Preparing ‘ . 351 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


XXXI. Clare and the Lawsuit 358 

XXXII. A Great Undertaking 369 

XXXIII. In Court ; . . 378 

XXXIV. Clare in Court 401 

XXXV. A Message from Afar 410 

XXXVI. The New Steadman 415 

XXXVII. The Flight 420 

XXXVIII. The Elder Message 429 

XXXIX. Bowker’s Fortune 435 

XL. Matrimonial 445 

XLI. Conclusion 449 


DEDICATION. 


To my wife, Bernice Galpin Wade : whose no- 
bility of character and world of love is an inspiration 
ever of noble thoughts ; and whose daily walk and 
conversation is a perpetual illustration of a beautiful 
life and an exalted soul ; this unpretending book, 
written in leisure hours while seeking rest from ar- 
duous labors on the Bench, is affectionately dedicated, 
by her husband, 


The Author. 




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CLARE LINCOLN. 


A NOVEL. 


CHAPTER I. 

EICHAED PEMBROKE. 

It is sunset in New England. 

The long-drawn shadows spread over mountain and 
plain, meadow and forest, creating a world of fancy and 
fiction ; the land of dreams filled with airy nothings, 
carved into a thousand forms and figures, peopling 
the earth with Titans and Giants like those of the 
olden time. A colossal man follows the husbandman 
to his home, his rustic castle is converted into a pal- 
ace of beauty, and his little child, as it plays upon the 
lawn, is attended by a dusky companion who never 
wearies in its devotion and attention. The lights and 
shades of the declining day paint the landscape and 
the mountain with forms of beauty and grandeur ; gor- 
geous colors are in the sky and cloud : here a castle 
with turret and battlement filled with armed men, fly- 
ing through the air as if in pursuit of some imagined 
enemy; there a ship with masts, sails, and rigging 
calmly floating upon a placid sea ; and in the dim 
distance are mountain ranges, lake, valley, and plain, 
— a universe of shadow, soon to pass away ; a world 


8 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


of dreams typical of human life, soon to vanish into 
darkness. 

It is a sweet calm evening, sign and emblem that 
peace reigns in the domain of the Infinite, and such 
a sign as is ever reminding man to cease his unholy 
contentions and strifes. Soon the knell will toll the 
day’s departure to the shadowy land where its com- 
panions sleep, and its hopes and its fears, its corrod- 
ing griefs, and its exultant joys will find a grave in 
the mighty Past. 

The evening shades are creeping on, as ever. They 
halt not in their ceaseless march, and the birds ob- 
serving them, their hour-glasses, come out from their 
leafy bowers, and sing songs of joy and gladness, as 
if exulting in life and thanking the Giver thereof ; 
the sounds of industry are hushed and still ; the 
night birds are pluming their wings for flight ; and 
around the family altars of a million happy homes 
ascends the evening prayer of thanksgiving and 
praise. 

It is late in June, 1840. Come with me to the 
sea-shore between the towns of Plymouth and Boston, 
and see a fine old farm-house built of stone and brick, 
in a cluster of wide spreading maple, oak, and elm 
trees, overgrown with ivy and creeping vines, — a 
picture of quiet old age, peace, and contentment. 
Old age ? Yes, for the walk winding among the trees 
paved with thick hard stone, which leads to the main 
entrance of the house, is hollowed and grooved as if 
worn away by the tread of many feet, and the grand 
old trees, who clasp their giant arms together as if 
in a fond embrace, tell of the generations that have 
passed away since they were in their youth. 

The yard in front and around the house is filled 


RICHARD PEMBROKE. 


9 


with beautiful flowers and shrubs, while the lawn is 
clean shaven, showing the marks of cultivation and 
care. Back of the house is the farm garden and 
orchard, and here again there are evidences of age, 
for the apple-trees look as if they had reached their 
majority before the Revolution. At the well, where 
hangs the oaken bucket, there is a broad flat stone, 
upon which rests the curb, and engraved thereon, in 
large characters, are the figures 1690. The moss has 
formed all around them, as if to perpetuate this date 
by its everlasting growth ; the engraving is entirely 
covered up, and in the moss these characters appear 
as if written there by an unseen hand. By the side 
of the well is an overhanging elm, and farther along 
the out-buildings situate deep in the shade. The 
fruit-trees look like huge snow-balls suspended in the 
air, perfuming th*e earth with sweetness, being in full 
blossom, and promising an abundant harvest. Back 
of the orchard are the meadows and grain fields, 
loaded with grass and wheat gently waving in the 
breeze, and the balance of the farm, which comprises 
more than three hundred acres, is pasture and wood- 
land. The surface is somewhat broken and uneven, 
and coursing through the woods, out into the pasture, 
is a charming brook, which, dashing over the rocks 
near the shore, finds its way into the ocean. The 
sound of its waters, as they hurry on over rapid and 
cascade, mingle ever with the roar of the sea, and 
forms the never-ceasing song that cheered the life 
and the growth of the homestead in its younger days. 
The farm is old, and great trees planted generations 
ago mark the boundary lines that separate it from its 
neighbors, among whose sturdy branches the birds 
build their nests, and year after year rear and edu- 


10 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


cate their offspring. The house is a century and a 
half old and more, and is situate on an eminence over- 
looking the sea ; and as you look at it, you are in- 
clined to a feeling of reverence, as if in the presence 
of an aged white-haired man, full of wisdom and full 
of years. Type and picture of a former age ; com- 
panion and friend of the Pilgrims in their majestic 
struggle ; present at the planting of the seeds of a 
great Republic ; one of the sentinels upon the watch- 
tower, guarding Plymouth Rock and the ideas it rep- 
resented, what tales could it not tell, what adventures 
relate of the infancy and the youth of the new germ of 
government fostered and cherished around its altars ! 

The house and farm had long been known in the 
neighborhood as Pembroke Place, and that name was 
but a synonym for patriotism, loyalty, generosity, and 
charity. 

The twilight is fading into darkness, and lights are 
in the house. Let us enter. A solemn stillness per- 
vades the apartments. An oppressive feeling lurks 
in the rooms, a feeling of awe as if in the presence of 
dire calamity is in the air. Forms and faces appear 
here and there, but they tread softly, and look anx- 
ious and full of fear. Many neighbors and friends 
are gathered around the bedside of a sick woman who 
seems in the very agonies of death. The parish min- 
ister is there and the family physician. Anxious 
hearts are waiting and watching the event. Can she 
survive the terrible ordeal ? Will her wasted strength 
fail her at the decisive moment ? They speak with 
hushed and bated breaths, as if terrified and full of 
alarm. The husband, pale and motionless as a statue, 
holds his wife’s hand, intently looking at her fair 
face for a sign of life, and the precious memory of 


RICHARD PEMBROKE, 


11 


years and years of happiness throngs through his dis- 
tracted mind. And now her attendants with palpi- 
tating hearts, stricken with overpowering grief, turn 
away their tearful faces as if all were over. 

“ She breathes no more,” says Mrs. Hobson, a 
neighbor and moves away, her sympathetic face in 
tears. “ She is dead, God have mercy upon us ! ” 
sobs Mrs. Lynn, a friend of the family. “ Oh ! dear 
lady, if she could but have had a little more strength 
for the final effort ; but how peaceful she looks, and 
there is a smile of triumph as if she had won at last,” 
said Dame Loomis, as she smoothed the fair tresses of 
the departed. 

“ The Lord gave and the Lord taketh away,” sol- 
emnly utters the minister. “ Let us waft her pure 
spirit to the realms of bliss upon the wings of prayer.” 
And they bowed their heads, and upon bended knee 
communed with the Giver of Life Eternal. 

Soon the prayer ceased, and where but an hour 
before there had been breathless expectation and lov- 
ing anxiety, now the quiet and the silence of an over- 
powering sorrow had settled down upon the house- 
hold. Gloom and desolation filled the rooms, and 
the doors as they creaked upon their hinges, and the 
measured ticking of the clock, only revealed the dread 
silence more clearly. Death was in the house, and 
its shadows passed beyond the threshold and settled 
down among the trees in the yard, and these old sen- 
tinels in their watch and guard of the home of their 
love drooped their heads in sorrow. Now only the 
graveyard and the monumental stone would tell the 
story of the last heir of Pembroke Place. The hopes 
and the dreams of fond hearts were crushed and 
withered in the bud ; and the father, the last of his 


12 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


race, like some huge oak in the desert, whose branches 
had been cleft by the lightning’s stroke, was alone. 

But now there comes a change. The physician 
and the old nurse, who have witnessed many like 
scenes, whisper apart, and the physician returning ex- 
amines the patient’s pulse, and says there is yet hope. 
Hope ! How the word electrifies the weeping assem- 
blage. It drives away the dread silence, and loving 
hearts palpitate again with anxiety and expectation. 
And then busy hands apply restoratives, the physi- 
cian calls all his skill to the case ; the husband, 
without losing his steady gaze or the hand of his 
wife, is still motionless, but has grown old in an 
hour’s time. There is a faint flush on her cheeks. 
She gives signs of life. Is it all a cruel delusion ? 
Is it only the return of the life-like appearance 
which comes to those who have departed, that we 
may look upon the loved one as in a peaceful sleep ? 
No, no, she revives ! She breathes and speaks the 
name of her husband. And calling to her aid the 
help of God who gave to her the precious burden, 
and summoning the sublime courage and faith that 
only comes from a mother’s holy love, and which so 
exalts woman above man, and makes her a little 
lower than the angels, the child is born. She whis- 
pers with a feeble voice, “ My child, my child ! ” and 
folds him in her arms as if for the last time on earth. 
She looks at his tiny face with serene satisfaction and 
pride, as only a mother can look, but the effort has 
exhausted her and she is again insensible. 

History records the heroic deeds of warrior, saint, 
and sage. It tells how they have gloriously died for 
their country and their kind ; how they have stood 
with undaunted breasts at the cannon’s mouth for a 


RICHARD PEMBROKE. 


13 


free thought ; how they have marched to the scaffold 
for an idea ; how they have suffered in dungeons, and 
been burned at the stake for a principle, — and all 
these sublime acts bespeak something in man greater 
and higher than mere human power. But the 
mother, who, with undying faith and trust, calmly, 
willingly, lovingly, whether in the hovel or the palace, 
walks into the very jaws of death, and suffers a thou- 
sand agonies for the love of husband and child, is the 
truest heroine of earth ; and although her name is not 
blazoned on the historic page, or shouted by the 
crazy multitude, yet the record is kept in heaven 
where she will receive her reward. 

In the house all is now activity and confusion : the 
sudden change in the situation; the transformation 
from death to life ; the joy that has taken the place 
of sadness ; the hearts which but a moment before 
were stricken with inconsolable grief, now exultant 
with unrestrained gladness, it seemed like a transi- 
tion to a new world of happiness, like a resurrection 
from the dead. 

The servants are running hither and thither, the 
physician plying his remedies to the mother, and the 
nurse and old ladies attending to the wants of the 
little stranger. 

One maiden lady of the party thinks it an outrage 
upon the cause of woman’s rights that the new-comer 
is a boy, but the rest of the company, and especially 
his father, find no fault that it is not a girl ; and so 
the cleft and withered oak of the desert is budding 
again, and another twig is added to the family tree. 

Without the house all is still and silent ; the stars 
look down into the darkness and the night, and 
naught is heard but the singing of the brook and 
the music of the ever-moaning sea. 


14 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Another human life is added to the innumerable 
host that pass from earth to eternity, and nature ap- 
preciating the event is hushed in becoming repose. 

Another human life ! From whence did it come ? 
whither does it go ? Out of darkness to light ; out 
of light to darkness again. Clothed in mystery at 
its dawning ; shrouded in doubt and dread foreboding 
as it disappears. The eternity of the past and the 
eternity of the future are joined together by the frail 
bridge of human life, and traveling along this uncer- . 
tain pathway, the children of men flee from the un- 
known to the unknown and disappear forever. 

Forever? No, not forever. The promise of a 
happy future life appears in the longing for it. The 
power to think of the mysterious life to come foretells 
its glorious reality. 


CHARLES AND JULIA PEMBROKE. 


15 


CHAPTER 11. 

CHARLES A]SfD JULIA PEMBROKE. 

In the year 1632, only twelve years after the land- 
ing of the Pilgrims, there came from England to the 
Colony of Massachusetts a man with his family by 
the name of Richard Pembroke. They were in well 
to-do circumstances, but not wealthy. They left a 
comfortable home in the father-land, for their souls 
had caught the fire of liberty, and they fled from 
their mother country, and were willing to endure 
the hardships and trials incident to life in a wilder- 
ness far removed from the centres of civilization, 
for the sacred privilege of freedom in their religious 
opinions. They were Puritan in their religious faith, 
and belonged to that glorious band of men and women 
who by their courage and their hope laid the founda- 
tion of American greatness, and by their works and 
their prayers paved the way for the Declaration of 
Independence. They were the Pioneers of the great 
Revolution, the vanguard upon the outposts of Lib- 
erty and Equality. 

This family had felt the hand of persecution and 
oppression, and they broke away from their friends 
and the old associations of England, and confronted 
the perils of the deep and the wild savages of Amer- 
ica, to escape the thralldom of the mother church. 
Many of their friends and acquaintances had taken 
passage in the Mayflower and upon arriving at Plym- 


16 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


outh they found warm hearts ready to receive and 
welcome them. They shortly after settled upon the 
land now known as Pembroke Place, then a wilder- 
ness, and this farm has been in the family since that 
day, more than two hundred years. The perils en- 
countered by the early settlers from the Indians, from 
the severe winters, from the failure of crops and 
other sources, are matters of general history and need 
not be repeated here. 

In the year 1682, Reuben Pembroke, a grandson 
of Richard the Puritan, having accumulated consid- 
erable wealth, built the substantial house now on the 
farm, and planted many of the trees that now adorn 
and beautify it. Subsequently, in the old colony 
times and during the Revolutionary War, Pembroke 
Place, as it was familiarly called even in those early 
days, was far famed for its loyalty to the cause of the 
Colonies, and for its liberality in aiding the struggle 
of religion and thought for freedom. It was known 
far and wide for its generosity to the poor, and was 
loved and cherished by neighbors and friends for 
miles away. In the memorable days immediately 
preceding the Revolution, the neighbors upon a win- 
ter’s evening would gather around the bright open 
fire of the great room, and there talk over their 
grievances and wrongs ; and, after Lexington and 
Bunker Hill, would consult and take counsel and 
courage of each other, as to the war and the best 
means of achieving their Independence. 

James Pembroke, the owner of the place at this 
time, was a true-hearted patriot and philanthropist. 
He openly and bravely advocated the severance of 
the Colonies from the mother country long before the 
Declaration of Independence. He denounced taxa- 


CHARLES AND JULIA PEMBROKE. 17 

tion without representation, and aroused his neigh- 
bors to resist the oppressive laws by which they were 
persecuted. He helped to destroy the tea in Bos- 
ton harbor, and fought bravely at Lexington and 
Bunker Hill as a volunteer. He had amassed much 
wealth, but it was all at the service of his country,* 
for what was a fortune without freedom ? At one 
time during the war he raised a company of soldiers, 
and quartered them in and about his home until they 
could be armed and equipped for the field. For his 
zeal and activity in the cause, Washington sent him 
a commission as colonel in the army, where he served 
with distinguished bravery and success. After the 
war closed, and smiling peace had come again to cheer 
and bless the infancy of our free and happy country, 
he returned to his family and loved home, and here 
he was visited by Washington, Adams, and Franklin, 
and many other distinguished men of that glorious 
period. 

By these old associations and memories had the 
house and the farm become endeared to the Pem- 
broke family. Generation after generation had grown 
up and passed away, but they had left their foot- 
prints about the place, and each succeeding genera- 
tion inherited as a rich legacy the old memories and 
associations that endeared and glorified Pembroke 
Place. They were heir-looms in the family, more 
precious than gold, more sacred than rich treasures. 
Each tree had a history, and the child could tell the 
name of the ancestor who planted and nurtured it, 
and in a manner the old tree personified the ancestor 
himself. Yonder old oak that had braved the storms 
of one hundred and fifty years, was grandfather 
Reuben’s tree ; this maple, beautiful and strong, was 
2 


18 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


grandfather James’s tree, planted in the time of the 
Revolution. This room was where Washington slept; 
this one Franklin occupied ; and that one was the 
resting-place of Adams when he tarried under the 
roof, and to this day these rooms are called after the 
names of these illustrious statesmen. And so every 
nook and corner of the house and farm was made, 
sacred by some old association clinging to it, and 
guarding it from injury or molestation. These old 
remains and memories, upon every side, types and 
pictures of the lives that had once thronged about 
the place, were like the lives which they represented, 
cherished and revered as kinsmen and kindred of the 
household. And thus did Pembroke Place live in 
the hearts of the family, the sacred depository of its 
history, guardian of its illustrious name, respected 
and venerated for its age, and glorified for its achieve- 
ments. Family after family had grown up and passed 
away, but their names lived forever about the old 
homestead, and not one member was ever lost or 
forgotten. Houses reflect the images of those who 
build them. Behind the house is seen its builder. 
They represent ideas and thoughts, and thus men 
perpetuate themselves in their works and their 
thoughts, long after they have passed away. Pem- 
broke Place was the picture of the family who built 
it, — strong, sturdy, and resolute. It had an inner 
life and an inner history, a charmed ideal life, an un- 
written, yet a perfect history ; and in the world of 
memory that clustered around it, and made it sacred, 
not a tie was broken, not a family or a child had 
departed, but they all lived and thronged around the 
fireside and the family altar. 

Thus did Pembroke Place live in the hearts of the 


CHARLES AND JULIA PEMBROKE. 


19 


family, and thus was it loved, and the voices of its 
children ever guarded its name and its fame from all 
reproach. 

In 1840, at the date of the beginning of this his- 
tory, Charles Pembroke, a grandchild of James of 
Revolutionary fame, owned and occupied the house 
and the farm. He was a tall, well-proportioned 
young man, of a sober, thoughtful cast of mind, but 
proud of his name and family. Not that narrow 
pride which contented itself by walking in the shadow, 
and resting upon the laurels of honored forefathers ; 
but that broader and better kind which would emu- 
late them, to the end that he might be worthy of his 
illustrious progenitors. He delighted in the study of 
the history and achievements of his ancestors, and he 
felt a noble burden resting upon his shoulders, to 
maintain the dignity of his family. He knew its his- 
tory by heart. He would spend days and days among 
the old papers and records that belonged to the place, 
and before he was twenty years of age could recite 
the story of all the Pembrokes since the year 1632, 
and for his own amusement had compiled and written 
a history of the farm from that date. 

At the age of twenty-four years, Charles came into 
the possession of the place, his father and mother 
having died, leaving him an only child. He was well 
educated, having graduated at Harvard College, and 
was inclined to study law ; but finally concluded that 
a professional life would take him away from the 
home of his fathers, and perhaps be the means of 
delivering it into the possession of strangers, and so 
contented himself by remaining on the farm. His 
father had been unfortunate in his money matters, 
having signed a note for a large amount, with a friend 


20 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


as security, and had been compelled to pay the same. 
In order to raise the money for this purpose he was 
obliged to mortgage the farm, and the debt remain- 
ing unpaid at his death, Charles assumed the burden, 
with the strong and full determination to pay and 
cancel it, for like those who had gone before him, he 
loved the old homestead, and was willing to devote 
his life and his energies to keep it in the family. The 
idea of losing the farm filled him with terror and 
alarm, not so much on his own account, or because of 
its great value, but because of his family and their 
history. The farm and the house formed a part of 
the charmed story of the Pembrokes, and he could 
not give them up. He thought it would be an insult 
to his long line of ancestors, whom he revered and 
loved, to permit their home and their memories to 
pass into the hands of strangers. They would pol- 
lute the time-honored treasures that clustered about 
the house. They might destroy some of the old trees 
that for more than a century had guarded and shaded 
it ; or they might put profane hands upon the rooms 
of Washington, Franklin, or Adams. No, the place 
should be saved. His ancestry should not be dis- 
turbed, and this thought became the mainspring of 
his life, and filled him with ambition and hope. But 
the debt was a mountain, and would have appalled 
many a stout heart. It was sixteen thousand dollars, 
and the yearly interest amounted to one thousand dol- 
lars. His father had struggled bravely with the ter- 
rible load, but had only been able to pay the interest 
each year as it became due. Charles knew this, but 
with true courage he went about the task. He 
worked the farm for six years, and by careful man- 
agement, economy, and prudence was able to pay the 


CHARLES AND JULIA PEMBROKE. 21 

interest, and to make small payments upon the prin- 
cipal. 

At the age of thirty he married Julia Leonard, a 
neighbor’s daughter, of good family and finely edu- 
cated. She was a fresh, bright girl, full of life and 
energy, in every way the equal of Charles, and his 
fit companion. They had been children together, 
and many times had they wandered, hand in hand, 
about the meadows, fields, and brooks of the old place 
in the joyous days of childhood. Julia was twenty- 
four at the time of her marriage, and for several 
years previously had been a member of the neigh- 
boring church. Calm, dignified, self-possessed, kind, 
sympathetic, and benevolent, prepossessing and at- 
tractive, and loved by all her neighbors and friends, 
she adorned the old homestead, and was a worthy 
successor of its matrons of the olden time. She 
caught the enthusiasm of Charles, and united most 
heartily in his efforts to save the home of his fathers. 
Together, full of hope, trusting and encouraging each 
other, they entered upon the great work. They 
lived for each other. Their lives were full of happi- 
ness and peace, blended together in harmony, a glo- 
rious unity, to endure forever. 

For years they struggled and toiled, sometimes the 
great debt mastering them, and sometimes they were 
masters of it, but never did they grow discouraged 
or lose heart or hope in their work. And thus four- 
teen years had passed away. They were years of 
toil and discouragement, yet full of happiness and 
calm and heavenly peace. No children had blessed 
this union of love, and Charles had begun to look 
upon himself as the last of the Pembrokes, and in 
his gloomy moments would think the old homestead 


22 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


and his race would expire together in ignominy and 
disgrace, but in his brighter moods would drive away 
the troublesome thought, and struggle on with his 
burden. At his wife’s suggestion he had made a 
will bequeathing the property in trust to found a 
home for orphan girls. The thought gave them new 
energy to save the property from the inexorable mort- 
gage, and many were the bright pictures they painted 
of the happiness their prospective “ Home ” would 
bring to the poor and the unfortunate. But these 
pictures were only dreams soon to vanish out of sight 
forever, by the happening of the event recorded at 
the close of the first chapter. That event brought 
joy to the house of Pembroke. It filled the hearts 
of father and mother with sublimest joy. They ex- 
ulted in their gladness, and solemnly they thanked 
the Giver of every good gift. Now they would save 
the homestead for their boy, their darling Boy. He 
was the centre of their hope, from whence radiated a 
new world full of beauty and brightness. He should 
be the support of their age, and the staff of their 
declining years. For him they would live and labor ; 
for him they would love and hope ; for him they 
would redeem and save the home of his ancestors. 
Oh ! blessed boon to the weary, hungering, longing 
heart. Oh ! priceless gift, treasure of treasures, the 
child of purity and love. 

And so Pembroke Place had an heir, and he was 
named Richard by his doting parents, cherishing the 
fond hope that as the ancestor by that name had 
founded the family, so he, his kinsman of a later gen- 
eration, should save it from ruin, and bring to it new 
lustre and renown. 


CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


23 


CHAPTER HI. 

* CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 

Childhood and old age do not generally furnish 
material for eventful history, yet they are periods in 
human life of profoundest interest. 

There is always a bond of sympathy between the 
very young and the very old, and this comes from the 
intuitive understanding between them, that they re- 
semble each other. There is a mystery enveloping 
both : one the mystery of life, the other the mystery 
of death ; both are helpless and dependent : one with 
the want of maturity and growth, the other with de- 
crepitude and decay ; both are forgetful and thought- 
less : one because memory is not yet developed, and 
the other because it is worn out with use ; both are 
childish, reminding us that the rising sun is but a 
picture and prototype of the ^oing down of the same. 

Childhood characterizes the morning of life, and its 
evening represents the same period ; and thus, if in no 
other manner, do men become like little children be- 
fore entering the Kingdom of Heaven. 

This old family seat of the Pembrokes was looked 
upon with affectionate interest by all the people 
round about, for its history had become a part and 
parcel of their own lives. It was a landmark, a mon- 
ument, for all the neighboring country. There it 
had stood for ages, strong and steady, gathering 
around it the associations of generation after genera- 


24 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


tion : it had witnessed the growth and the settlement 
of the Colony and the State ; had endured the times 
that tried men’s souls ; had known many hardships 
and enjoyed many triumphs ; and these memories of 
its life had become so linked and woven into the lives 
of those about it by transmission and inheritance, that 
they looked upon Pembroke Place as a part of them- 
selves. Never, during its long and eventful life, had 
it turned a deaf ear to those in distress ; and the le- 
gends and stories related by the aged and white-haired 
men and women, as they sat around their firesides 
and recalled the past, of its generosity and bounty, 
of its feats in arms, and of its heroic bravery in the 
olden time, were household words in many a family. 
And these tales repeated by father to son, and in- 
creasing in wonder and marvelousness as they trav- 
eled downward through time, had inspired a feeling 
of reverence for the place and all things connected 
therewith. 

And so it was that for miles and miles around 
there were bonds of sympathy and affection that 
bound the people to this old family seat. 

And Pembroke Place had an heir. 

This event had significance beyond the immediate 
family circle. It was entirely unlooked for, and dis- 
turbed the calculations and expectations of many, and 
was the theme of much speculation and idle talk. 
For so it happened and will again, that the curious 
and the gossiping of the neighborhood had busied 
themselves in wondering and imagining what would 
become of the place when the present occupant had 
passed away without an heir. It was an inexcusable 
event in the opinion of some, and entirely out of 
order, for those who looked upon Charles as the last 


CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


25 


of the Pembrokes did not wish the trouble of chang- 
ing their opinions, or of overturning all their former 
speculations and predictions ; and then there were 
others who looked upon this strange proceeding as an 
invasion of their sacred rights, — a sort of legalized 
robbery, which, if not frowned upon and discounte- 
nanced, would sap and mine the very foundation of 
our liberties. 

There was old Bowker, the owner of the mortgage, 
a money worshiper, a plotter and intriguer for gain, 
and wholly unscrupulous as to the means used pro- 
vided the end was accomplished. Although under a 
binding and valid agreement not to foreclose the 
mortgage so long as the interest thereon was promptly 
paid at the end of each year, yet in his unrestrained 
greed he was looking forward to the time when old age 
should come creeping on and palsy the arm of Charles 
that the interest might fall in arrear, thereby to ena- 
ble him to grasp the farm, which was in value double 
the amount of the mortgage, by a forced public sale. 
But this unpardonable event clouded these greedy 
dreams, for would not these doting parents, with all 
their pride of family and of name, contrive some 
means whereby to save the farm for their son and 
heir ? There was not much consolation for Bowker, 
save in this : he thought this boy would cause ad- 
ditional expense, and thereby make inroads into the 
interest money, and so after the manner of his kind, 
he contented himself by waiting and watching for the 
pinching time to come when he could pounce upon the 
fold in their distress, and gain his end. Bowker was 
patient, Bowker was persevering. He could wait. 
He had the farm in his toils and he could bide his 


26 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Then there was the church to which Charles and 
Julia belonged. The building was old and looked 
poor and insignificant beside the more modern struct- 
ures of its kind. To be sure the longing, hungering 
souls had sought and found consolation there genera- 
tion after generation, and thither they had come with 
their children, their husbands, wives, and fathers, 
their sisters, brothers, and kindred, to give the last sad 
look and the tearful farewell, until their thronging 
feet and bended knees had worn and disfigured the 
threshold and the altar ; but then, there were other 
churches not far away, larger and more fashionable, 
where the worshipers sought the heavenly grace 
with more style and many modern improvements. 
And now if Charles, in the generosity of his heart, 
should by his will bequeath his property to the 
church, and thereby render possible the erection of a 
new building,, a little larger and more beautiful than 
any other in the vicinity, it would be a consummation 
mos-t devoutly to be thankful for. Of course no one 
ever mentioned this subject, but despite their prayer- 
ful efforts to the contrary, the thought would now 
and then creep into the minds of the more worldly 
members, and sometimes in unguarded moments they 
would even speculate upon what the farm was really 
worth in cash, or what it would be worth by the 
natural rise in property at the end of Charles’s life, 
if he should live to the ordinary age of men, which 
they sincerely hoped he would do. 

And so Pembroke Place had an heir. And if the 
event was deplored by some, it was not so by the 
multitude. Indeed, little Richard made considerable 
commotion in the world upon his first appearance, 
and in this he was unlike the most of children, who 


CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


27 


appear and disappear without causing a ripple in the 
great ocean of humanity which struggles unheeding 
on. But the news that Pembroke Place had an heir 
for a moment arrested the attention of the thought- 
less thronging crowd, and spread through the neigh- 
borhood, and called forth many kind words from young 
and old, and with the aged revived the recollections 
of olden times. He was the first-born of his parents, 
the event of all events in every household, and they 
knew not how to express their joy. Even Bowker’s 
heart of stone would have warmed with an unwonted 
glow, to have looked upon these exultant parents. 
They saw everything by a new light, and the earth 
was full of beauty, because they saw it with a larger 
love and more expanded hearts. They humbly and 
devoutly thanked the Giver of every blessing for the 
precious gift of their son. He who never prayed be- 
fore will feel like kneeling to the Lord of all at the 
sight of his first-born child. 

He was kinsman of Richard the first, who founded 
the family ; allied to Reuben, who built its home ; 
kith and kin of James, who fought at Bunker Hill ; 
and these joyful parents saw in his tiny face all the 
nobility and greatness of his illustrious ancestry. 

Some thought the Pembrokes made a great ado 
over their boy, but the criticism was unjust, for at 
such a time gladness is licensed to express itself as it 
will. Who shall chide them for their love? Who 
shall warn them to be more temperate in their devo- 
tion ? They looked upon their child and the book of 
life was opened anew ; they saw new responsibilities, 
new duties, new love, and new hope. Indeed it was 
a new world to them, and they saw beaming in from 
afar the promise of peace and repose to their declin- 
ing years, when their struggle should near its close. 


28 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Was so remarkable child ever born ? This they 
would ask over and over again of old mothers with 
full grown children about them, and were not satisfied 
until there was a full acknowledgment that this was 
the most wonderful babe ever born. Some mothers 
were profuse in their praises, but would end by say- 
ing that in their younger days they had seen just as 
handsome children, and contented themselves by plac- 
ing young Richard simply upon an equality with some 
other very remarkable babes, with whom they had 
been most intimately acquainted. 

Shall we recall the first days of this precious son 
and heir ? Who can paint the picture of a human 
life ? Its scenes so common and yet so mysterious ; 
its events so trifling and yet so complicated ; so 
blended and woven together that the marvelous 
whole is beyond comprehension. Who can untangle 
the. confused web, and explain the mystery of being ? 

But so it was, a new human life had appeared 
upon earth, and no one stopped to inquire from 
whence it came or whither it would go, but all con- 
tented ‘themselves with making wise remarks as to 
the shape of his mouth and the form of his nose. 
Undoubtedly the moulds in which these features were 
east had been laid away among the fossils of the fam- 
ily, for the pictures of the sturdy old forefathers upon ' 
the walls revealed something of this character. 

Well, the usual ceremonies were enacted, as they 
have been in all time past and will be for all time to 
come. The neighbors came in, the curious, the gos- 
siping, the good, and gave their opinions as to the 
looks of the new-comer, as if these were matters of 
the utmost importance, and gravest concern. This 
one thought the boy a Leonard, resembling his 


CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


29 ' 


mother’s family ; another could see a picture of both 
parents in the child, while yet a third thought he 
resembled the Pembrokes, and could see that he 
looked like grandfather James, whose picture gravely 
gazed down upon them, delighted, undoubtedly, 
from the wall. 

Mrs. Hobson, kind soul, called, and her first ex- 
clamation was : “ Why, Julia, your boy is a pure Pem- 
broke ; I can see it in his full forehead, and in his 
eyes.” 

This was just what the mother wished her to say, 
for like every doting wife she wished her boy to re- 
semble the husband of her heart. 

Mrs. Lynn came to present her congratulations, 
and she was very sure the youngster had his grand- 
father Leonard’s nose, and for her part she thought 
that about as good a nose as a child need have. 

Soon grandfather Leonard came with his own nose, 
showing conclusively that Mrs. Lynn was mistaken, 
and with him came his old wife, aged people now, 
father and mother of Mrs. Pembroke. They were 
delighted and full of happiness. Their first and only 
grandchild ! It marked an era in their lives. The 
mysterious process was still going on. Some were 
coming and some were going, and the marvel was not 
yet explained. To some the dawning light was just 
appearing ; to others the evening shades were gather- 
ing, damp and chill. 

Their old hearts were full of love, and they show- 
ered blessings upon the household of their daughter. 
They joined the parents in praise of the child, and 
spent hours and hours in calling to mind the golden 
period when their own children were young and they 
were in their prime. Happy, glorious memory ! The 


30 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


star of declining years, the light of old age ! When 
our race is nearly run, and the events of yesterday 
fade quickly from our sight, then it is that the mem- 
ories of youth and manhood become most vivid : and 
ere we take our departure for tlie better land we re- 
new our lives, by living over again the days of our 
strength and our hope, and thus does the lamp of 
life blaze into brightness ere it expires forever. 

Thus weeks ripen into months, the autumn leaves 
have fallen, the snows of winter have disappeared, 
and it is summer again. A serene and happy life 
was that at Pembroke Place. The little child, all un- 
conscious of his power, had taught his father and 
mother many new and valuable lessons in life. This 
puny teacher, this leader of men and of nations, had 
opened to his parents, fields of love and hope, the 
most beautiful and the most charming, where before 
there was but a desert of desolation. They had 
. never known how to love their own parents until they 
had a child of their own. Then they learned and 
could comprehend the infinite wealth of love that had 
guarded and protected their own lives during the pe- 
riod of helpless infancy. They blessed their parents 
again and again with a love never realized before, and 
their love for each other was ripened into an inex- 
pressible sweetness, deeper than the fathomless vault 
of the heavens, and wider than boundless space. 

Thus did this little child enlarge and expand their 
hearts ; thus did he purify and crystallize their love, 
and thus did he bring heaven to his earthly home. 

It is Richard’s birthday. He is one year old. 
Commemorate the day when this new life appeared 
and hallow it. Plant a milestone by the way-side to 
mark the event. Each year will add a new one. 


CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


31 


They will seem far apart at the commencement of 
the journey, but will gradually approach each other, 
and at the end nearly blend together. 

But clouds darken this happy home. Sickness 
comes, and death seems very near. Oh, why this tor- 
ture and agony? Why does every great happiness 
engender a corresponding misery ? Why does every 
shoot from the tree of Love cause to spring forth a 
corresponding growth from the skeleton of Despair ? 
If his parents have loved their darling with all-con- 
suming affection, now they are agonized by a fear 
equally powerful. But say not that it is better never 
to have loved at all, than to endure this agony. No, 
no. This is the fire that purifies ; this the light that 
guides to heaven. 

The clouds pass away and the sunshine comes 
again. The years glide on. If the parents never 
knew such trials, they never dreamed of such bliss. 
If in their younger days life had been full of sweet- 
ness, now it was sanctified and divine. And so in the 
birth of this boy, there was a second birth in the 
hearts of his parents that no time could destroy. 

The bud is expanding. The dawning intellect is 
full of promise, and his parents watch the mysterious 
growth with ever-increasing pride. How many say- 
ings of his do they put away in the sanctuary of their 
memories never to be forgotten ; in how many ways 
do they see indications of genius and intellectual fire. 

Still the years pass on, and Richard has grown to 
be fourteen years old. He is full of promise. He is 
a pure Pembroke, brave, generous, and kind. It is 
the boy’s fourteenth birthday. This young life, but 
a little while ago so puny and tender, is fast reaching 
its prime. Soon the expanding bud will blossom in 


32 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


all its beauty, soon the sear and yellow leaves will ap- 
pear, and the blasts of autumn scatter them, and then 
the winter will be near. How the events of life 
sweep relentlessly onward to the mysterious end. 
The fourteenth birthday ! Plant another milestone 
by the way-side. Commemorate the event in a suit- 
able manner. Bring together a whole house full of 
boys and girls. Engrave their bright and happy faces 
on the heart ; enjoy the precious hours as they fly ; 
do some act that will give happiness, for the actions 
of to-day will be the memories of future years. What 
is life ? A fading memory. Build then the precious 
fabric with care ; weave into its warp and its woof 
noble thoughts and generous deeds, that its weft may 
bring happiness and not remorse. 

Then celebrate the natal day. It commemorates 
the grandest event of time — the birth of a human 
life ; rejoice and be glad, for it is the anniversary of a 
life eternal. 

Bowker had been propitiated, his appetite appeased 
for a whole year ; the fields are in their beauty and 
glory ; the air is mild and balmy, while the brook 
sings its sweetest song; then celebrate the day, and 
in the years to come enjoy it over and over again by 
recalling its happy events. 

The traditions of the family for generations had 
clothed the fourteenth birthday of the eldest born 
with a peculiar charm. It came to be looked upon 
as the day that in some manner prognosticated the 
future career of the child, — a prophetic day that re- 
vealed glimpses of the unknown. Many were the 
legends and the tales carefully laid away in the 
archives of the household, and related from time to 
time with a feeling of superstitious awe and mystery, 


CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


33 


recording the events of the day, and how they had, 
by the interpretation of the wise in this mystic lore, 
always foreshadowed the future. 

This traditional history, full of thrilling incidents, 
and the rendering and interpretation thereof, extended 
back to a remote period, and invested the inner life 
of Pembroke Place with a nameless charm. Here 
was a record of the day and the deeds of Reuben the 
builder, and of James the patriot, of Charles, and his 
father, and many others, and thus had the fourteenth 
birthday of the eldest born become the day of all 
days in the youthful calendar. 

Thus the day, long looked for, came heralded by 
sacred voices and precious memories. What a glorious 
day ! When will the happy throng assembled there 
forget it ? Time in his unceasing flight will add many 
years to some of their brows, and then the aged gray- 
haired man, with his grandchildren gathered about 
his knee, will tell them of the day and its wonderful 
event : of the visit of the party to the bluffs to watch 
the coming in of the tide, and of the floundering ship 
far in the distance ; of the fishing excursion far up 
the brook, deep into the forest ; of the open, cleared 
space far in the woods, known as the Indian sugar- 
camp, where they partook of their lunch, and with 
wondering eyes related to each other the tales its 
name and history evoked ; of the ramble in the woods 
for wild flowers, and the return when the dews of 
evening were falling ; of the thrill of horror and dis- 
may when, before reaching home, it was discovered 
that Ellen Gray and Jane Norcross, two of the party, 
were missing ; the search of Richard and his compan- 
ion, Johnny Flint, for the missing girls through all 
the weary night, while a wild thunder-storm raged 
3 


34 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


over their heads ; of their seeking safety from the 
fury of the storm in the Indian sugar-camp ; of the 
anguish of the parents, and their frenzied search for 
their lost children in the darkness and the storm ; of 
the night of dismal horrors and dread alarms ; of the 
success of the brave Richard and Johnny, who on the 
next day returned with the lost girls (was this 
search of theirs an omen of the future ?) ; of the joy 
of the parents, and of the gladness of Charles Pem- 
broke, who, reminded of a similar event on the four- 
teenth birthday of James the patriot, exultingly said 
to J ulia, his wife, “ Do you not see an omen of prom- 
ise in this accident. Think of the fourteenth birth- 
day of grandfather James. Our son is treading in 
his footsteps.” 

Then the little bright-eyed grandchild with wonder 
inquired, “Did our papa and uncle Johnny get lost in 
the woods, and have to stay all night in the dark ? ” 

And now the fourteenth birthday was a memory. 
It had taken its place beside its companions of the 
olden time : it had added another page to the leg- 
endary record ; another enigma to the mystic lore ; 
another omen which only the great future could verify 
and explain ; another milestone by the wav-side of 
life. 


CLOUDS AND SHADOWS. 


35 


CHAPTER IV. 

CLOUDS AND SHADOWS. 

Bowkek, was a mystery. 

He seemed to belong to a new, or • to an extinct 
species, — an excrescence, at all events, washed ashore 
by some great upheaval of humanity, without a name, 
a country, or a home. Whether he ever had any 
youth, or' whether he would ever die were problems 
of equal doubt. He did not seem to belong to the 
human kind. He simply appeared in the world with- 
out any cause or provocation, and whether he would 
ever leave it or not was problematic. Time had no 
effect upon him, for, from a period when the memory 
of man ran not to the contrary, he had looked and 
acted just as at the present hour. Perhaps Father 
Time had dulled and blunted his scythe in attempt- 
ing to hew down and lay low this worthless frame, 
for he was dried, shriveled, and pinched, stooping and 
tottering upon his staff; his thin white locks hung 
uncared for upon the collar of his threadbare coat; 
his cheeks were sunken, and his chin sharp and pro- 
jected beyond his nose, but his small, deep-set black 
eyes glowed and glistened with sly shrewd cunning. 

They called him a miser., and in the nomenclature 
of nondescript animals, perhaps, this was as faithful 
a description as possible to give. Nobody knew 
where he lived, and nobody cared. He had no 
friends. Not a tie of affection or of love bound him 


36 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


to the living or the dead ; not a sympathy pulsated in 
his heart. He had evidently lived past the allotted 
age of men, and it was time for him to die, for he 
did no good to himself, and was a curse to the balance 
of mankind ; but he gave no signs of leaving, and 
seemed to gloat over the idea that he could defy the 
ordinary rules of mortality. He owned fine houses 
and wide-spreading farms, and lived in a hut, but no 
one ever stopped to inquire whence he came or whither 
he went. He collected his interest and his rents to 
a farthing; the tears of widows and orphans were 
nectar to his lips ; the groans of the suffering were 
music in his ears. The love of gold had consumed 
his soul, and pinched and withered his body. He 
was a walking mummy, a heap of cinders, dross, and 
ashes. He denied himself the necessary food ; he 
went about in rags, and it is a truth, that with all 
his hoarded gold he would beg in the streets for his 
bread. 

Not in the economy of nature, or in the organiza- 
tions of the social fabric, — not in the economy of so- 
ciety or civilization was Bowker needed. 

But Bowker, old as he was, pinched and stooping 
as he had been for years, and whether or not he be- 
longed to the human species, still had his eye upon 
Pembroke Place. He had waited years for it, never 
wearying, never growing discouraged, but always 
trusting the good time to come when it would fall a 
prey to his desires. It was an awful race, this, be- 
tween Father Time with his scythe and Bowker with 
his cane ; but the cane thus far had the advantage, 
and was not likely to be overtaken until Pembroke 
was passed and withered as by a scourge and pesti- 
lence. 


CLOUDS AND SHADOWS. 


37 


How patiently Bowker had waited ! For twenty- 
five years and more had his bony arm been uplifted 
over the farm, yet never an opportunity to strike the 
fatal blow. He had seen one generation pass away 
and another spring up; he had seen death deplete 
the family, and marriage and birth add to it, yet 
never, amidst all these mutations of time, could the 
skeleton hand seize its prey. That disastrous agree- 
ment not to foreclose the hiortgage while the interest 
was promptly paid as it became due, extorted from 
him in a moment of weakness before the scorching 
fire had entirely blackened his soul, had protected 
the farm like a magician’s wand; it palsied his arm 
as it gathered for the blow ; it tortured his very be- 
ing. 

But Bowker thought his time had come at last. 
Richard had reached and passed the magic day when 
by the traditions of the family infancy ended and 
youth began, and now he must be educated, and this 
would require money. 

Thus cogitated the old miser, and after the manner 
of his kind, not having any one to talk to, he solilo- 
quized. Grinning a ghastly, sinister smile, he said : 
“ Ha, ha, ha ! I shall win at last. It has been a des- 
perate struggle for years and years. How I have 
waited and waited. That infernal agreement ! I 
curse myself for having made it. Think of Bowker 
being such a soft-hearted fool as that ! But old 
Bowker is very tough, and he will win at last. Ha, 
ha, ha ! This son must be educated, and this will 
take money, money, money ! Pembroke pride will 
make them educate their son, even if they lose their 
home. Ha, ha ! It was a desperate struggle for them 
to pay last year, and this year they wont pay at all, 


38 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


and then old Bowker will have a word to say. Ha, 
ha ! I cursed the day the boy was born. How they 
have worked for him ! But he will help me in the 
end ! Bowker’s day is coming, and Bowker can wait 
a little longer. Ha, ha! ” 

This communion with himself had put Bowker in 
good humor, and he entered his hovel with un- 
wonted pleasure. He had previously consulted a 
lawyer by the name of Popper, and had been in- 
formed by him that if the payment of the interest 
was a day in default, it would make void the agree- 
ment not to foreclose the mortgage, and that upon 
such default he could commence proceedings at once, 
which course the lawyer strongly advised him to pur- 
sue, if the opportunity should occur ; for such an 
agreement the law would not uphold for an instant 
after it could be avoided, because it was clearly 
against public policy, and an invasion of the sacred 
rights of the money-lender. Thus counseled and ad- 
vised, and feeling that the good time was fast ap- 
proaching when Pembroke Place would take its 
place by the side of his numerous other victims, he 
felt consoled and joyful. 

As Bowker had anticipated they would, his parents 
had now taken the subject of Bichard’s education 
into serious consideration. The birthday party had 
indeed marked an era in the life of their son. The 
associations connected with it, the memories and tra- 
ditions it called forth from their hiding-places, and 
the field of historical research it opened to view, 
caused Richard to look upon the home of his fathers 
with a new and an absorbing interest. He read the 
history of the Revolutionary War; he searched for 


CLOUDS AND SHADOWS. 


39 


and found the manuscript history of the Pembroke 
family, written by his father in his younger days, 
and studied it until every word was at his tongue’s 
end, and thus did this old family seat of his ances- 
tors become his idol. Never before had he been so 
charmed and interested, never before had he felt so 
much like a man. Before then, the old house was 
endeared to him as his home, but now it became 
sanctified, and he revered it for what it had been. 
Every tree became invested with a new life and a 
new charm, and he looked upon them as trophies of 
a by-gone age, while the old pictures of the family, 
hanging upon the walls of the rooms, became envel- 
oped with a halo of glory. He became deeply inter- 
ested in examining everything old about the house. 
There was the old chair in which his grandfather 
James sat, there the room he occupied to do his writ- 
ing, here the room made sacred as the one where 
Washington slept in the long ago, and here a picture 
of Richard the first, founder of the family. 

All these old relics had voices and spoke to him. 
He went out to the bropk and looked into its clear, 
swift running waters, and wondered if it ran on and 
on the same when Reuben the builder lived, and if it 
would continue flowing on forever. He wandered 
about the farm, and, resting in the shade of the trees, 
thought. Here is where my fathers labored and strug- 
gled, here is where their children played and grew to 
be men and women, a hundred years ago and more, 
and yonder is where they sleep, and so it will be a 
hundred years to come. He examined the old family 
Bible, giving the names, ages, births, and deaths of 
all his race, and in the burying-ground he read their 
names upon the stones, and said, “ Here is Pembroke 


40 CLARE LINCOLN. 

Place.” He went out to the heights overlooking the 
sea, in the twilight of evening, and listened to the 
grand music of the waters, and looked into the fath- 
omless blue expanse, and wondered if those other 
children, his kinsmen, whose monumental stones he 
had just seen, ever viewed the same sights, or listened 
to the same anthems of the waves. 

And thus had the home of his fathers become en- 
deared to him. 

A month and more had elapsed since the birthday 
party. It was Saturday evening, and Richard and 
his father and mother sat in the yard beneath the old 
maple-tree, enjoying its cooling shade. The labor of 
the week was ended, the household affairs and the 
farm work had been put in readiness for a day of rest 
and repose. While they were sitting there, viewing 
the fantastic figures which the declining sun painted 
upon the landscape, a stage-coach came thundering 
along the road from Boston. Mr. and Mrs. Pem- 
broke were expecting an old friend of the family from 
the city on a visit, and were not surprised when the 
coach halted at the gate. An aged man alighted, and 
came up the walk. The family hastened to meet and 
to greet him, and it was a hearty meeting as of dear 
old friends. The visitor’s name was Henry Kent, or 
Judge Kent, as he was generally called. He was a 
lawyer by profession, and had seen, thirty-five years 
of hard service at the bar, but had now retired from 
active labor, and in his old age was enjoying the com- 
forts of a hard, yet honestly earned fortune. He was 
a lawyer who honored his profession. He loved the 
law, because he looked upon it as the means whereby 
right was secured and justice done, but had an un- 
speakable contempt for the men who attempted to use 


CLOUDS AND SHADOWS. 


41 


it as an instrument of fraud and corruption. He 
lived in the suburbs of Boston, in a beautiful resi- 
dence, and had an office in the city, but rarely ap- 
peared in the courts, except now and then in a great 
case that he could not well refuse. His appearance 
indicated a man of marked ability. His gray hair fell 
loosely over a wide, high forehead ; his brown piercing 
eye had a kindly expression ; while his large nose and 
firm lips bespoke the man of stern, unyielding pur- 
pose, and his countenance taken together showed the 
man of thought and culture. 

He was an old friend of the family, and had known 
the father of Charles intimately, both before and after 
the great misfortune of the surety debt, and for many 
years had transacted all the legal business connected 
with Pembroke Place. He it was who had induced 
Bowker to enter into the agreement not to foreclose 
the mortgage, and in many ways had he befriended 
the family, until they came to look upon him and to 
love him almost as a parent. 

After the evening meal, the family and friend were 
sitting in the great room, talking of old friends and 
old matters, when Judge Kent said, “ By the way, 
Charles, how do you get along with the interest this 
year? I do not doubt Bowker is as punctual as 
Lr?” 

Charles gave a troubled, anxious look towards his 
wife and answered, “We are still wrestling with the 
mortgage, and thanks to you that we still have an op- 
portunity thus to do. The interest you know falls 
due in May, and it was paid this j^ear promptly upon 
the day. Bowker never fails to appear just at the 
right time to receive it.” 

“ Where does Bowker live?” inquired the Judge. 


42 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ I cannot tell,” answered Charles, “ but I think 
somewhere near the city. May I ask why you in- 
quire ? ” 

“ I wonder it never came into his mind,” said the 
Judge, “ to hide and conceal himself so that you could 
not pay upon the day the interest became due, there- 
by to cause you to forfeit your agreement, or his 
agreement, and thus enable him to foreclose. If any 
such thing should be attempted you must be prepared 
to meet it, and must tender the money at his place of 
residence upon the day it becomes due.” Charles, 
alarmed, replied, “ I had alwa3^s supposed Bowker so 
happy to get his interest, that he was not looking for 
anything beyond. I will ascertain before the next 
day of payment where he lives. He must not by any 
trick pounce upon the farm. He must not foreclose. 
A forced sale at this time would make us beggars.” 

Sorry enough that he had opened the subject when 
he saw the trouble it caused Charles and his wife, he 
hastened to say, “No, no, he shall not be enabled to 
foreclose hj any trickery, and I only intended to give 
you a timely warning.” 

Richard was present, and listened with wonder to 
this conversation. He did not comprehend its mean- 
ing, but by the anxious looks of his parents feared 
it foreshadowed something terrible. 

Charles then said apart to the Judge, “ Richard 
knows nothing of the mortgage, but I cannot keep 
him from it much longer, and shall soon tell him 
all.” 

Now the Judge was troubled, thinking he had said 
something the parents were keeping from their son, 
and hoping to allay any suspicions that might have 
been aroused, said, “ My son, if you will study law 


CLOUDS AND SHADOWS. 


43 


when a little older, you will learn the meaning of 
the words we have been using in our conversation. 
By the by, have you ever thought what you are go- 
ing to do, that is, what business you would like to 
engage in after you become a man ?” 

Richard, thinking all lawyers were like the Judge, 
and therefore that they belonged to a superior race 
of beings, felt much embarrassment at being thus ad- 
dressed, and so said, as quickly as possible, “ Sir, I 
have never thought at all upon the subject.” 

Judge Kent was an old gray-haired man, ripe in 
experience, and learned, and now that he had opened 
the subject himself, and thinking his advice would be 
of exceeding great value, Charles asked him to coun- 
sel them as to what occupation they ought to prepare 
their son to engage in for life. Thereupon the Judge, 
feeling the gravity of the subject upon which he 
was called to speak, and measuring his words, calmly 
said : “You ask me to give advice upon a subject of 
the utmost concern to yourselves and to your son, and 
as carefully as I would counsel a man respecting his 
life or his liberty, will I now respond to your request. 
You speak of preparing your son for business. This 
is a mistaken idea. The boy must prepare himself., — 
make himself, I use the words make himself pur- 
posely, for whatever he is, whatever he achieves, 
whatever he accomplishes, he must do it himself. 
Others cannot help him. His wealth, his standing 
in society, his family name, or his ancestry or his 
poverty, will not make or unmake him ; but he must 
work out the problem of life for himself, and by his 
own efforts and his own labor. Whatever he engages 
in he must labor to succeed. Success does not come 
by chance., but by labor. There can be no fraud and 


44 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


no deception about it. The world will soon learn 
who are the empirics, and who stand upon a solid 
foundation. If your son thinks of undertaking the 
law, he must make up his mind to devote himself to 
dry study for years even before he acquires sufl&cient 
knowledge to practice, and when he enters the pro- 
fession he must expect to meet ability and much learn- 
ing. The practice of the law is a warfare of the in- 
tellect. There can be no sham or quackery about it, 
for when a suit is brought the other side will employ 
learned, acute men to examine your papers, and if 
they are wrong, because of your ignorance, you are 
exposed at once, and the public places you where you 
belong, among the humbugs and the quacks ; and the 
remarks of the pettifogger, who tries to shield him- 
self by abusing the court for his misfortunes, will not 
deceive the public. So the law becomes a combat 
of sharp learned minds. In this profession men are 
brought in constant contact with each other, and all 
they do or say is scrutinized and criticised by astute 
learning, and so they are obliged to be right, or be 
exposed. The profession constantly calls into requi- 
sition all the judgment, all the learning, and all the 
ability men possess, however wide their knowledge 
and experience, and thereby are their minds enlarged 
and expanded. Dealing with and counseling upon 
the multiform and infinitely complicated affairs of 
mankind, the lawyer should know everything. 

“ In the medical profession, men loVe to be hum- 
bugged so well, and there are such opportunities for 
playing upon their fears without exposure, that un- 
learned adventurers sometimes succeed for a time ; 
but such success is always ephemeral, and the learned 
professor who is content to study his books and to 
wait, will eventually win the race.” 


CLOUDS AND SHADOWS. 


45 


Richard was listening with rapt attention, drinking 
in every word. The Judge paused for a moment and 
then said : “ You have opened up a very wide subject 
by your inquiry. Am I wearying you, or shall I pro- 
ceed ? ” 

“ Proceed by all means,” said Charles, and Richard 
whispered to his mother that he loved to hear the 
Judge talk. 

The J udge then moving his chair a little, and plac- 
ing his hand upon Richard’s shoulder, said : “ My son, 
whatever a boy proposes to do, in whatever business 
he proposes to engage, whether it be that of lawyer, 
doctor, minister, farmer, engineer, merchant, or me- 
chanic, he should first acquire a good broad education. 
I am an old man, and I have watched these things 
closely, and my observation teaches me that men suc- 
ceed best who commence their profession or trade with 
a thorough education. If the law, for instance, is the 
ultimate object, the true road to this profession is 
through a college, for in the practice a lawyer will 
often be called to bring into requisition all the learn- 
ing of the schools. So my advice comes to this : first 
give your boy a thorough education, and after that 
let him choose his profession or trade for himself. 
The inclination of his mind should be followed in this 
regard. He will succeed best in doing what he likes 
to do. If 'your son has the same inclination that you 
had, Charles, by all means he should study law. The 
law is an honorable profession, a noble employment ; 
it opens a wide field for doing good, if the right foun- 
dation is laid upon which to build ; it points the road 
to official preferment and distinction, but it leads to 
a lifetime of labor, care, and anxiety, and no one 
should enter the profession without understanding 
all these things.” 


46 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Thus spoke the old lawyer to his friends, and for 
long years Richard remembered every word he had 
uttered, and in many a dark and trying moment they 
gave him comfort and consolation. 

After the departure of the Judge, his parents had 
many consultations over sending Richard to the acad- 
emy, twenty-five miles away, preparatory to his en- 
tering college. And now they felt the burden of the 
great debt bearing down upon them heavier than 
ever before, for it crippled their ambition for their 
son. They had never informed Richard of the debt, 
fondly desiring that his young life, at least, should be 
bright, happy, and free from care. Grandfather 
Leonard was brought into the family council, and it 
was finally determined that Richard should enter the 
academy preparatory for college. 

In a day or two after Judge Kent had returned 
home, Richard came to his father, and with a troub- 
led look asked him what was the meaning of the first 
of Judge Kent’s conversation. “ What is a mortgage, 
and how is it that the beggar Bowker has anything 
to do with Pembroke Place ? ” 

Indeed, the time had come when Richard must 
be informed of these matters. The shadow that had 
clouded his parents’ life must cross his pathway, and 
it could be no longer, delayed. 

Then the father, drawing Richard to his knee, said 
with an agitated voice, “ My dear son, your father 
and mother have thus far kept the great burden of 
their lives concealed from you, because we wished 
you to be happy and joyful like other boys, but I 
must now tell you that Pembroke Place is heavily 
mortgaged to secure the payment of a large sum of 
money, and the history of that debt is the history of 


CLOUDS AND SHADOWS. 


47 


your father’s and mother’s married life ; we have 
struggled with it for years, as my father did before us. 
Bowker is not a beggar, that is, not from necessity. 
He owns the mortgage, and I pay him each and 
every year a large amount as interest. We are grad- 
ually paying off the debt, and hope to do so fully 
before many years.” 

Never was Richard so astonished before, and he 
wept bitter tears at tlie possibility of his loved and 
revered home some day answering the mortgage. 
Then the thought of the years and years of labor and 
toil his father and mother had endured, patiently 
and uncomplaining, to save the dear old home, and to 
save it for him ! He would abandon everything ; he 
would give up all idea of acquiring an education ; he 
would remain with his^ parents and help them save 
the home of his fathers. This was Richard’s thought ; 
this his resolve, and he said to his father, “ I cannot 
go to school ; I cannot leave you ; I must remain 
with you, and help save our home.” 

“ My child,” answered the father, “ youth is the 
time to acquire an education, and if it is neglected, 
if the golden opportunity passes unimproved, it is 
gone forever, and all after life is miserable because of 
this neglect. In your case, whatever sacrifice it re- 
quires your parents make it most cheerfully, that 
you may acquire something no misfortune can take 
from you. It is a thousand times better that you 
should know something and be poor, than to be rich 
and an ignoramus.” 

“ But father how can I study, how can I remain at 
school while you and mother are drudging your lives 
away at home ? I cannot do it. The idea would 
drive me crazy. No, let me remain and work with 


48 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


you on the farm, I can do almost a man’s work 
now.” 

“ My brave boy, do you remember that you are a 
Pembroke, and that the honor and the name of the 
family will soon rest upon your shoulders, and what 
would grandfathers Richard, Reuben, and James 
think of your parents or yourself, if you came to 
man’s estate without an education. The farm is safe 
as long as we pay the interest, and that we shall do 
in the future, as we have done in the past.” 

Richard was absorbed in deep thought, almost a 
trance : who knows but he was communing with the 
illustrious dead, who came to whisper to him words 
of cheer and hope ? Who can say that he was not 
looking forward to the time when he should be the 
sole representative of the Pembroke race, the guard- 
ian of its name, the trustee of its fame and reputa- 
tion ? From Avhatever good source the resolution 
came, he aroused from his reverie and said, “ Father, 
I will go to school.” 

The autumn and winter were taken up in prepar- 
ing for it, and in the spring he entered the academy. 


STRUGGLES AND HOPES. 


49 


CHAPTER V. 

STRUGGLES AND HOPES. 

Richard’s first journey to the academy was not 
particularly pleasant. He went as a matter of duty. 
He had, since learning of the great misfortune that 
had overtaken his loved and honored home, secretly 
and with himself, made a great resolve to redeem and 
save it for his parents, to the end that their declining 
days might be peaceful and happy. The road to the 
accomplishment of this purpose he realized would be 
a long and dreary one, beset with difficulties and 
dangers, and he entered the academy as one of the 
first steps towai'ds achieving the object of his great 
ambition. 

It was like wrenching the vine from the sturdy oak 
for Richard to leave the dear old home and the fond 
associations of his childhood ; but the great cloud that 
had darkened the life of his parents had overshad- 
owed his own ; the old days of peace and security 
could never come again while it cast its blight upon 
all the future ; and he could not remain idle while 
yet it lowered about the horizon shutting out the 
light. 

Remarkably diffident and modest from early in- 
fancy, and dreading to come in contact with strangers, 
he entered the hall of learning with fear and trem- 
bling. He found three hundred students, boys and 
girls of his own age and older, assembled there, all 
4 


50 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


with strange faces, and as he looked around upon 
them he felt ‘an indescribable feeling of loneliness 
such as he had never known before. He soon learned 
there were terrors in store for him that he had never 
dreamed of, for to his dismay he found that every 
student must, once in two weeks, appear before the 
school and the teachers with a declamation or compo- 
sition. How the thought made his flesh prick and 
tingle, but there was no escape ; the decree was inex- 
orable and must be obeyed. 

In the unvarying progress of events the dreaded 
day came. Nothing would hold it back ; nothing 
stay its progress. Students and teachers were all 
assembled. Many of the former wore long and sober 
faces. They had not lost their friends ; they were 
not attending a funeral, but they looked as though 
they were. Richard was miserable. 

Now there was silence; not a whisper or a sound 
could be heard. The first victim approached the 
speaker’s stand. It would not sink beneath the floor, 
but stood there high and firm like the executioner’s 
block, and around it sat the teachers, calm and dig- 
nified as if terror and agony did not permeate the air. 
He stepped upon the stand and after uttering a few 
words failed, and with palpitating heart returned to 
his seat. The next one took his place and bowed, but 
the bow seemed to have emptied his head, and utterly 
at a loss to know what to do with his hands, after a 
moment retired, not having uttered a word. 

These failures encouraged Richard, and he thought 
if he failed he would have plenty of company in his 
misery, which is always agreeable. His name was 
called, and at the sound the room grew dark for an 
instant and seemed to whirl in endless confusion, but 


STRUGGLES AND HOPES. 


51 


he found his way to the stand, his knees trembling, 
and his lips quivering. He had repeated his exercise 
so many times that his tongue would almost speak 
without any exercise of the mind, and he stood there 
like an automaton and went through his declamation. 
No matter if he shut his eyes through its whole re- 
cital ; no matter if he rolled and twisted the skirt of 
his coat during all of the performance, he did not 
fail. It was a victory. His first genuine triumph. 
Who can tell the torture of such a trial ? 

Thus Richard entered the academy. And now the 
dreaded May, the interest paying month, is approach- 
ing at home. Preparing Richard for school had 
made inroads into the funds of his parents. They 
had put forth every exertion ; they had turned every 
stone, and yet the interest money was short and May 
was fast drawing near. What a struggle, and for how 
many years I Would it never end? Could they 
never be free ? Could they never have a moment’s 
peace and repose ? No, never, they thought, until the 
peace of the grave should give them boundless free- 
dom. 

The conversation of Judge Kent had alarmed them. 
Could it be possible that Bowker was slyly contriv- 
ing and intriguing to procure a sale of the farm upon 
foreclosure of the mortgage ? The fear of this had 
added a deeper sting to their trials. All the winter 
and spring it had hung like a scourge over their 
thoughts ; it had almost driven away hope and given 
them over to despair. For why had Judge Kent 
mentioned this ? He must have had some reason for 
it. And so he had. By some means or other he 
had been apprised of Bowker’s plans, and had, with- 
out intending to alarm, given them a timely hint 
thereof. 


52 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Acting upon the advice of Popper, or some other 
vagabond of the law, Bowker had concluded, by- 
stratagem, to pave the way for foreclosing the mort- 
gage. Perhaps he felt the pangs of old age creeping 
on ; perhaps he had become convinced that the scythe 
would in the end of the race overtake the cane, and 
therefore he must hasten his plans and his projects. 
Whatever may have been his reasons for so doing, he 
had determined not to call for the interest the day it 
became due, and thereby work a forfeiture of the 
agreement, and thereby make the way clear to com- 
mence a suit upon the mortgage. 

By a desperate and fearful endeavor, by depriva- 
tion and hardship never known before, the interest 
money was, before the day it became due, collected 
together and ready for payment. But what if Bow- 
ker should not come to receive it. It must then be 
tendered at his place of business or his home. His 
place of business or his home ! They were myths. 
Sometimes he was in the city and sometimes in the 
country. A tramp always, a wanderer in rags, a 
beggar for bread, and the hovel must be found that 
he called his home. Have we not said he had no 
friends, home, or country ? Who were his kindred ? 
Did he ever have a father or mother, brothers and 
sisters, infancy or youth ? Nobody knew and nobody 
cared ; and yet that spot, that sacred place where 
cluster the gems and the jewels of life, must be found 
— his home. 

Here was a trouble never thought of before, but 
the admce of Judge Kent must be followed. Bow- 
ker’s home must be found and the money tendered 
there upon the day it became due, if he did not call 
for it.- Charles felt that Bowker would not call for 


STRUGGLES AND HOPES. 


53 


his money. The hint of Judge Kent meant that, and 
nothing more. Then his home must be found, but 
how ? He instituted inquiries, but no one could, give 
any information. He called at the houses of his ten- 
ants, and upon the men who paid him rents, but they 
knew not where Bowker lived, and did not seem to 
care. He appeared to them upon pay-day, and never 
failed. This was all they knew of Bowker, and 
more than they wished they did. Then he must be 
followed. Some trusty discreet person must dog his 
footsteps like a hound upon the track, for days if 
necessary, and at all events, learn where he sleeps. 
As to his laundry- work and where it was done, or 
when or where he washed himself, would never be 
known, and as to these no inquiry need be made. 
But who could go upon the track and do it well? 
Charles bethought him. A boy would be better 
than a man, less suspicious, and perhaps just as dis- 
creet. And so Johnny Flint, the brave boy of the 
fishing excursion, was the one selected to go in pur- 
suit of Bowker’s home. 

Johnny in pursuit of the miser. It was a novel 
employment, but he knew Bowker, and knew the 
necessity of finding him, and entered upon his busi- 
ness with, alacrity. The first day was without re- 
sults. Bowker was not to be seen. The second day 
he found him in the suburbs of the city on the streets. 
He seemed to be very busy. He went in and out of 
the squalid tenement houses, a whole row of them. 
Then to others still more fallen down, dirty, and 
dilapidated. As he left one of these he was followed 
to the door by a woman crying, and with a young 
child in her arms, and Johnny heard him say, “ Pay 
your rent or leave to-morrow ; ” and the woman re- 


54 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


plied with a cry and a groan, “ My children are starv- 
ing. Do not turn us into the streets. Oh me ! oh 
me ! ” He only answered, “ Pay your rent, I say, 
or leave ray house to-morrow. Do you hear ? ” and 
tottered away upon his staff. As night approached 
he went out of the city, seemed to have finished his 
business and to be going home, if he had one to go to. 
Johnny followed. He was now a mile from the city 
limits ; its unceasing roar and noise could be heard, 
but the place was lonely, the ground broken and 
rocky, apparently waste land, and situate in a hol- 
low or ravine, nearly sheltered from observation, 
was a small board hut. It was yet twilight, and 
Bowker halted by the way-side a hundred rods and 
more from the house, and sat down. At a safe dis- 
tance and unobserved by Bowker, Johnny did the 
same. As it became darker he drew nearer. Bowker 
was still sitting on the ground. Finally, after it was 
entirely dark, he arose to his feet, and looking about 
him in every direction, as if trying to learn whether 
or not he had been followed, and being satisfied in 
this regard, walked towards the hut. Johnny fol- 
lowed, and heard him unlock the door and enter it. 
He waited some time for a light, but none appeared, 
and upon close observation found the one window to 
the house darkened and secured by a board shutter. 

But Johnny’s task was not yet performed. He was 
commissioned to find where Bowker slept : whether 
he ever slept or not, he thought he could ascertain 
where he tarried for the night, by remaining on the 
watch until morning, and this he resolved to do. By 
chance, he discovered there was a light in the house, 
by its faint glimmer through an accidental crack in 
the window-shutter. This, at least, was encouraging, 
for it seemed to indicate that Bowker was at home. 


STRUGGLES AND HOPES. 


55 


The night was warm, and Johnny rather enjoyed 
his novel employment — watching the habits of a 
miser. He made a closer inspection of the premises. 
There was a worn and beaten path that led to the 
house, and this was an indication that Bowker or 
some other person frequently sought shelter beneath 
this hospitable roof. Indeed, this must be Bowker’s 
home. He was seized with a strong curiosity to look 
within this habitation, and to behold the deities 
gathered around Bowker’s fireside, but this did not 
seem to be a matter so easily accomplished. At 
about ten o’clock, Bowker came out of the door, and 
walked carefully around the house, watching and 
listening as he went. Discovering nothing to attract 
his attention, he entered the house again and locked, 
and by the sound, barred the door. 

Now all was silent, the light disappeared from the 
crack in the shutter, and Bowker had seemingly re- 
tired for the night. The watchman kept his post, 
and nothing occurred to disturb the silence of the 
night until about two o’clock in the morning, when 
the door opened again and Bowker came out, this 
time without his hat or coat, another evidence that 
he was really at home, and walked stealthily and 
slyly around the house, but satisfied again that all 
was right, he returned and locked and barred the 
door. Nothing further occurred until just before the 
dawn, a smoke curled up from the chimney, and 
Bowker was evidently preparing his morning repast. 
In an hour afterwards he came out again, this time 
in full dress, locked the door behind him, and made 
his way towards the city, intent, undoubtedly, upon 
collecting the rent from the woman with the little 
babe and hungry children. 


56 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Faithful Johnny was not yet satisfied. This rest- 
ing-place of Bowker’s might be only his country seat, 
occupied on rare occasions and far apart, or a tem- 
porary abode for the night ; but if he should return 
the following night and tarry there, then it would be 
safe to report that he had found his abiding-place and 
his home. Thinking that Bowker would return to 
the hut, if at all, at about the same time as upon the 
previous evening, he repaired to the city and sought 
rest and food. As the night again approached he 
secreted himself in his hiding-place, and patiently 
awaited Bowker’s return. At length he saw him 
sitting by the way-side, at a point where the path m^t 
the road. Soon the friendly night came on spreading 
its darkness over the evil and the good, and Bowker 
having awaited its protection, came slowly up the 
path. Something had disturbed him during the day, 
for he seemed excited, making now and then a gesture 
with his hand, and muttering to himself : “ Curse 
the old jade ! One month’s rent gone ! This waste 
must be stopped ! But she will never cheat me 
again ! Her goods are in the street and the door is 
locked and barred. Now for another tenant. The 
property must not remain idle. But the Pembroke 
farm will cover many losses. Ha, ha ! ” 

This last thought seemed to have consoled him, for 
he ceased talking, passed along, unlocked the door, 
and entered the house. 

The night wore itself away, precisely as had the 
previous one, and Johnny, satisfied now that he had 
executed his trust, returned to Pembroke Place, and 
made his report. 

Thankful indeed, that he had been so fortunate as 
to find the miser’s dwelling-place, and not doubting 


STRUGGLES AND HOPES. 


57 


now that Bowker was seeking to procure a sale of 
the farm, Charles made the necessary preparations to 
thwart this purpose. Judge Kent was consulted, the 
interest money in coin was ready, and but two days 
intervened before the day of payment. The day 
came, and so thoroughly convinced was Charles that 
Bowker would not, as usual, appear and receive the 
money at his house, and taking Johnny and the coin 
with him, sought the residence of his creditor. They 
reached there at midday ; but Bowker was nowhere 
to be seen, and having tendered payment in legal 
form, at the door of the hut, they returned home to 
await further developments. And they were not slow 
in showing themselves, for the very next day at sun- 
down came an officer with papers to serve upon 
Charles, informing him that Bowker had commenced 
a suit to foreclose the mprtgage. There was con- 
sternation in the household. More trouble. Hopes 
blasted. Almost despair. Charles immediately sought 
an interview with Judge Kent. An answer was drawn 
setting forth the agreement, the tender of the money 
upon the day it became due, at the place of residence 
of the mortgagee, and the money was brought into 
court to await the action thereof. Soon the trial was 
had. Bowker cursing the court, the law, and the 
lawyers, went out of court with quite a bill of costs ; 
the stratagem of the miser, and his attorney, Popper, 
had been thwarted, and the old time peace was par- 
tially restored to Pembroke Place. But the attempt, 
although it had miserably failed, left a feeling of 
insecurity and dread, that could never be entirely 
driven away, for what might not these plotters of 
iniquity next attempt ? 

In the mean time, Richard continued at the acad- 


58 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


emy, and knew not of the troubles that had over- 
taken his home. He prosecuted his studies, moved 
and actuated by the idea that he was acquiring the 
means to redeem and save the home of his parents. 
This was the one thought that moulded his life ; this 
the purpose that fired his ambition, and caused him 
never to weary in his labors. The first school year 
ended, and he returned to his home and entered upon 
the farm work with the same unyielding determination. 
In the second school year the walks and shades of his 
academic life were perfectly familiar to him, and he 
returned to them as to old friends. Two years at the 
academy and he had completed his course there. He 
was now seventeen years old, and his parents found 
him ripening into manhood, with a changed voice, tall 
and strong, overflowing with glorious life and energy, 
full of unbounded hope and ambition. He had learned 
the best lesson that any boy can learn, and that is, 
that honest toil and industry is the only road to true 
nobility, the only means to preferment and progress, 
and this lesson is better than a thousand legacies of 
fleeting wealth. 

He cannot rest, cannot now falter in the course he 
has marked out for himself. The college doors are 
opening for him ; and bidding adieu to his parents, to 
Johnny, whom he loved, to his friends and associates, 
he entered Harvard, cherished Harvard, where his 
father had been educated. He became a favorite 
there, and the second and third years paid his way 
by teaching some of the lower classes. Three years at 
college, and home spending the vacation, preparing for 
the fourth and last year of the course. The last year 
of the course ! Will it ever come to him? Will he 
ever enjoy it? Will he renew again the bright life at 


STRUGGLES AND HOPES. 


59 


college and meet his associates there ? The oracle is 
dumb, and only answers — will he ? Let him then 
cling to the memories of these golden school years. 
They will liye fresh and green, when other things 
have faded away ; they will form a consecrated spot 
in the pathway of life, around which cluster the bright 
visions of youth ; and when the declivity of time is 
reached, and he is hurrying rapidly to the mysterious 
end of the race, he will fondly reach across the space 
of a lifetime, and cling to the incidents and the friends 
with whom he commenced the untried journey. 


60 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


CHAPTER VI. 

WAITING. 

It is autumn, and Richard is home, impatiently 
waiting for College Commencement the ensuing spring. 
Restless and uneasy for something to do, anxious to 
assist his parents, and willing to labor, he decided to 
teach school. The term in his home district would 
commence in November, and continue until April, 
and he engaged to teach it. 

The common or district-school is an institution pe- 
culiar to the United States, one of the jewels of our 
civilization, of which we may be justly proud. Here 
is a power, an irresistible force that literally overruns 
the whole country, building institutions of learning at 
our very doors, and inviting our children thither free 
of cost or expense, and if they do not acquire an edu- 
cation, it is not because the government does not pro- 
vide the means. Wise indeed is the policy that offers 
a free education to our children, and wiser still will 
that be which compels them to receive it. Knowl- 
edge is the guardian of Freedom ; intelligence the 
force that holds men in order; learning the magic 
shield that protects from harm. 

This knowledge is offered freely at our doors, and 
so our common school system, like our hearthstones, 
is an institution of the family and the home. Upon 
it, the altars of Freedom rest and are secure ; upon it, 
the structure of our civilization reposes in peace and 


WAITING. 


61 ‘ 

tranquillity, fearing no evil, for knowledge is the in- 
strument of liberty, while ignorance is the weapon of 
spiritual and temporal despotism. 

The teacher is expected to board in the district 
among the patrons of the school, and while his labor 
is unceasing, his amusements are without end. Each 
night he finds a new home with new scenes and new 
faces. The teacher is popularly supposed to be smart 
and entertaining, and is expected to amuse instead of 
being amused. He must talk politics, religion, and 
law, as though he knew something of each ; must en- 
tertain the ladies, the very aged and the very young ; 
must suit the whims and caprices of the thoughtful 
and profound, the gay and frivolous, and if there is a 
baby in the family, must admire its beauty, and kiss 
its dirty face, if it happens to be of that kind, or suffer 
the pains and penalties of being denominated proud 
and exclusive. In this family there is a maiden lady 
with a very sharp nose, and a tongue more pointed 
still, a mole on her chin, very pious, exceedingly pre- 
cise in her language, stiff and angular in her deport- 
ment, and much inclined to impress very serious les- 
sons upon her sister’s children, with whom she lives. 
With her he must talk of church matters, sewing 
societies, and home missions, and not only must he 
talk, but must be entertaining. With her there can 
be no levity, no joyfulness, and not a single word of 
nonsense. In the next family there is a very aged 
man whose chief delight is to talk of old times and 
the days of his youth. With him he must for hours 
listen to the incidents of the long ago and not become 
stupid, tired, or fail to give good attention. In an- 
other family he finds two young ladies, a little too 
old to go to district school, ready for conquests and 


62 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


armed with weapons irresistible. They have the 
spare room lighted and warmed for him, and hail his 
coming with delight, for who knows what may be in 
store for one or the other of them. In their company, 
though smitten and pierced with their charms, he 
must be dignified and agreeable, nothing more, for 
there are other young ladies in the district whose 
jealousy must not be aroused, for in such an event 
their bitter tongues would very likely say something 
to injure the school. In the minister’s family he must 
unite in reading portions of the Scriptures, certainly 
no great hardship, and perhaps be invited to lead in 
prayer, which sometimes might be attended with em- 
barrassment at least. With the farmer he must be- 
come interested in his calves, in his hens and chickens, 
pigs and cows, besides listening to much learning on 
the subject of the different and the best varieties of 
blooded stock, and the good and bad qualities of each. 
He is expected to sleep in the spare bedroom with 
the thermometer twenty degrees below zero, with no 
fire in the room, in sheets a little damp for want of 
airing and nonuse, and enjoy it. Part of his patrons 
favor using the rod freely, a portion of them believe 
in pure unadulterated moral suasion, and the rest think 
these remedies should be so harmoniously blended and 
applied as to preserve order. Some desire him to be 
very strict in his government, and keep a very still 
quiet school at all hazards : to this class belong the 
parents whose children are entirely unmanageable 
at home. Others think the noise not of much con- 
sequence, provided that good progress is made in the 
studies. 

He is expected to make the dull scholar bright, the 
lazy one active, and if the quick studious child makes 


WAITING. 


63 


more rapid progress than the dull and indolent one, 
he must hear complaints from the jealous parents, of 
favoritism and partiality, with equanimity and com- 
posure. 

Richard looked forward to his school with anxiety. 
It was a new and untried field of labor. But at 
length the first Monday of November arrived, and 
bright and early he made his way to the school-room ; 
but early as he was he found many children there 
with their books, selecting their seats in pursuance of 
a custom which provided that “ prior in time is prior 
in right.” Soon others came swarming in from every 
direction to the number of seventy. Nine o’clock 
arrived and the school was called to order. What a 
sea of young vigorous life ! What an ocean of pent up 
mischief, energy, and activity : a miniature world, rep- 
resenting all its passions and all its virtues ; a com- 
plete edition of human nature, clay in the hands of 
the potter, to be moulded into characters of beauty 
or deformity ; tender plants, that will ripen into men 
and women to bless or curse mankind. 

Richard commenced his labors earnestly and soberly. 
He classified the school and set the wheels in motion. 
Full of enthusiasm, the scholars soon caught the fire 
of his energy, and the school prospered. Weeks 
passed ; the scholars were ambitious and striving, 
emulating each other, — a whole army of workers 
marching in solid phalanx, each desperately attempt- 
ing to lead the van ; while the teacher had been in- 
troduced to the pleasures of sleeping in damp sheets, 
eating fresh pork and fried apples, and talking pol- 
itics, religion, law, home missions, and agriculture. 

Towards the close of the term an exhibition was 
announced for the last day, and then commenced a 


64 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


busy time of preparation. Compositions to be written, 
declamations to be learned, dialogues prepared, and 
Richard was everywhere, helping, encouraging, and 
laboring with all his might. Who can recall the 
hopes and the fears of that busy, anxious time ? These 
young buds and blossoms, sparkling with the sunshine 
of life’s early morning, these young orators and au- 
thoresses, were to appear for the first time before the 
great public. The event would mark an era in their 
lives never to be forgotten. Who has not laid away 
in the unused chambers of the memory the record of 
that palpitating hour, so full of terrors and alarms, 
when alone, with no one to lean on or to hide behind, 
he marched upon the platform and faced a great audi- 
ence ? To stand on a battle-field, calm and steady, 
a mark to be shot at by an angry foe, that some 
doughty chieftain might be proclaimed a renowned 
warrior, requires exalted bravery ; but to appear for 
the first time on the stage, to be gazed at by an army 
of curious, criticising eyes ; to be unable to recognize 
your own voice, it sounds so strange and unnatural ; 
to think you are some one else ; to see yourself so 
small and worthless, and your auditors magnified 
into giants ; to hear your heart beat and beat as if 
trying to free itself from a body so unworthy ; to feel 
your knees tremble and quake, and to wish that you 
could sink into the earth and be forgotten forever, — 
to endure all this, and- stand firm on the spot and not 
flee out of sight and out of hearing, requires courage 
and determination of the same exalted character. 

This ordeal was fast approaching, and Richard re- 
solved there should be no failures. 

During the last week of the term, and when in the 
midst of preparations for the exhibition, the school 


WAITING. 


65 


received a challenge from the adjoining district for a 
spelling match. By the custom of the country, which 
had grown to have the force and effect of a law, it 
would have been an acknowledgment of inferiority to 
have declined, and so the demand to enter the spell- 
ing lists was accepted. The challenging party were 
far famed as champions of the field, having won many 
victories, and never been defeated. Richard selected 
a squadron from his little army, and with the utmost 
care drilled them in all the maneuvers of this manual 
of arms. Captain and soldiers entered into the con- 
test with spirit, determined that victory should perch 
on their banners. 

On the evening of the combat, under a flag of truce, 
it was gravely determined that the ordinary spelling- 
book, only, should be used, and in case of a violation 
of this article of the convention, the delinquent party 
should be considered, held, and taken as vanquished. 
There was a flourish of trumpets, and a call to arms, 
and the battle commenced. At the close of the first 
hour, hardly a vacancy had occurred in the serried 
ranks of either party. As the second hour expired, 
only three of the challenging party remained standing, 
while Richard confronted them with four veterans in 
the warfare, one of them a little girl thirteen years 
old. The battle still raged, and the slaughtered com- 
batants, whole ranks of them, but showed where the 
struggle had been the most fatal, and the contest 
raged the fiercest. The excitement now became in- 
tense. A failure on either side almost raised a shout 
of triumph from the opposite party. At the end of 
another hour the challenging party were all down, 
not a soldier remaining at his post, and Richard’s 
school were wild with the glory of victory. Two of 


66 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


his scholars remained standing — Ellen Gray and the 
little girl. At last Ellen failed, and the girl was 
victor. Long was the combat remembered, and to 
this day the little girl who won the victory is cher- 
ished in the Pembroke school-district with feelings of 
gratitude and pride. 

The evening of the exhibition came, and with it a 
throng of people. The stage was a blaze of light, 
and the exercises commenced by Johnny Flint de- 
claiming the speech of Patrick Henry. Then came 
compositions, recitations, declamations, dialogues, and 
the evening closed by the little girl reciting “ The 
Peri at the gates of Paradise.” Richard gave a part- 
ing address to the scholars, and thus the school and 
the exhibition passed into the shadowy land, and 
live only in grateful memory. 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


67 


CHAPTER VIL 
CLARE LINCOLN. 

Trifles sometimes control our lives. The thoughts 
of an hour, the sights of a moment, the sound of a 
voice, the sparkle of an eye, an accidental meeting, 
the expression of a face, have worked wonderful re- 
sults. There are moments that mark their impress 
upon all our lives, — days when the horoscope fore- 
tells the* future if we could but read its shadowy pre- 
dictions, — natal days that commemorate the birth of 
a power or influence which moulds us at its will. 

Such a day marked the commencement of Richard’s 
school. Turn backward to the event and observe it 
well. After the scholars had been called to order, 
and their teacher stood at his desk taking a view of 
• the many faces before him, and attempting to read 
the child behind these, their pictures, there was one 
face that at once arrested his attention, and he looked 
at it long and earnestly, as one would gaze at a rare 
and beautiful flower in a bouquet. It was that of a 
young girl yet in short dresses, a mere child, but 
there was something, an indescribable mysterious 
something, about her large and finely developed head, 
her full, bright, hazel eyes, and the sweet winning ex- 
pression of her countenance, — something, call it a 
nameless charm, an irresistible attraction, an over- 
powering influence, or what you will, — that filled 
him with an admiration before unknown, and for a 


68 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


moment chained him spell-bound where he stood. 
She was a stranger to Richard, and as he took his reg- 
ister in hand to obtain the names of the scholars, he 
was flushed with anxiety and excitement to learn the 
name of the young girl. At last he stood by her side 
and made the proper inquiry, and she modestly an- 
swered, “ Clare Lincoln, aged thirteen years.” 

What is in a name ? Perhaps not much, for it so 
happens that the very worst are sometimes clothed 
with a wonderful fascination, and the very best are 
the most hateful, for we endow the name with the 
attributes of her to whom it belongs. However this 
may be, Richard thought “ Clare Lincoln ” the most 
beautiful name he had ever known, and this was a 
little remarkable, for he was twenty years old and un- 
doubtedly, before that time, had heard and known of 
very many very pretty names. Be this as it may, 
certain it is that this young teacher became very im- 
patient to learn something of the history of her whose 
name he so much admired, but he was a man and a 
stranger, and he thought he could not make any in- 
quiries until they were much better acquainted. It 
is remarkable that he was seized with no such long- 
ing desire as to any other little strangers in the school ; 
but so it was that he took down the names of the 
“ Betsey Janes,” the “ Sarah Anns,” the “ Flor- 
ences,” and the “ Ellens,” pretty names without 
doubt, and never had any curiosity whatever to know 
anything of the previous history of those to whom 
they belonged. 

Clare was not large of her age, and was dressed 
plainly and neatly, but the style and fit of her 
clothes was of little consequence when looking at her 
charming face and form. She was indeed a beauti- 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


69 


fill child, and the charm of her beauty was, that she 
seemed entirely unconscious of it. Her wide white 
forehead, and dark arching eyebrows, her wealth of 
brown hair, and complexion as fair as a lily, her hand- 
some nose and eyes, that in their fathomless depths 
bespoke a soul of loveliness and purity, were not 
alone her attractions. There was an air of superi- 
ority about her, entirely unknown to herself, which 
at once created the impression that this lovely face 
was but a faint picture of the more beautiful child it 
concealed. Her voice was clear and musical, and her 
thoughts, always sparkling and bright, were ex- 
pressed in the very best of language. Her manner 
was easy and pleasing without effort, and while she 
was modest as a violet, and would blush at a breath, 
she was not awkward with diffidence, nor forward 
with vanity or self-conceit. She was graceful in all 
her motions, without affectation, and although very 
young, she dressed in perfect taste and always looked 
well, even in very poor clothes. 

She did not dream of her beauty, and the bewitch- 
ing fascination of her voice and manner was entirely 
unknown to herself ; but as she sat there in the 
school-room, curious at its novelty and a keen ob- 
server of all about her, she appeared the personifica- 
tion of grace and modesty, the embodiment of simple 
loveliness and intellectual ability, and her exterior 
was but an image of her inner self, but a faint repre- 
sentation of her more lovely character. Her dispo- 
sition was loving and affectionate, undisturbed by 
petty storms and tumults, calm and unruffled by tri- 
fling passions and jealousies; scorning deceitfulness 
and falsehood, frank and out-spoken, with nothing to 
conceal. Full of life, energy, and animation, a joy- 


70 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


ful happy school-girl, ambitious, aspiring, and long- 
ing for something higher and purer than the common 
life of drudgery, poverty, and ignorance, she hailed 
the opportunity of entering upon the pursuit of 
knowledge with exceeding delight. 

Do not suppose this little girl was an angel of 
perfection. She was human, with human infirmities, 
but was of the best type of poor human nature. 
She had opinions of her own, and a resolute will, and 
was not a mere butterfly of beauty with a weak 
head, spoiled by flattery and adulation, but a noble 
girl, with a sparkling intellect and a loving heart, 
longing to live a true life, and if her will made her 
firm of purpose, it generally sent her in the right 
direction. She was maturing early, and her mind 
was active. Perhaps the school of her life had de- 
veloped in the child the thoughts of maturer years, 
for she was poor, and had known the pinchings of 
poverty and want ; but young as she was, she had 
exalted ideas, and many depressed moments came to 
her, because the aspirations of her soul were thwarted 
and defeated by the circumstances and conditions 
that surrounded her. 

She believed that life should be full of activity, 
thought, and labor ; that it was a preparatory period, 
the primary department in a never-ending course of 
progress and development, and that the advancement 
made here in knowledge, in morality, in virtue, in 
the affections and sympathies, and in all that ex- 
pands and enlarges the mind and the soul, would 
entitle us to a higher place in the great hereafter ; 
and hence she aspired to all knowledge and to all 
virtue, and thus her devouring ambition at school 
had a glorious purpose and object. She could see so. 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


71 


much to accomplish in life, and the allotted time was 
so short, that she ever felt in haste to improve every 
fleeting moment ; for in her towering ambition she 
would learn all mathematics, all the languages, all 
philosophy and history, the arts and sciences, painting 
and poetry, not simply for the satisfaction of knowing 
them, but because she thought the cultivated mind 
became nearer perfection, and nearer the god-like, 
than those who were content to remain in ignorance 
and darkness. 

Thus, infinitely beneficial as she thought a cultured 
mind was to its possessor, involving consequences, as 
she believed, that reached eternity, yet not for her- 
self alone was she ambitious for an education. Dis- 
interestedly generous and benevolent, willing ever 
to sacrifice herself for the happiness of others, she 
would study and become learned that she might have 
the means and the power to succor those in distress, 
to lend a helping hand to those in need, to aid the 
struggling and the weary, and to relieve the heavy 
laden of their burdens. 

This was Clare Lincoln, the fisherman’s daughter. 
She was the child of poverty and destitution, and had 
seen much suffering and sorrow. In her younger 
days she was weak and puny, and her mother had for 
years been an invalid. Perhaps the fiery ordeal of 
trial and trouble, that purifying crucible in the econ- 
omy of Providence, had burned from her soul all 
the dross, leaving only the pure gold; and if thus 
were born her exalted ideas of life and duty, the 
prospect of their realization and fulfillment in her 
humble home was remote and beyond her reach, yet 
she did not complain of her lot, and labored on in 
her contracted sphere, its sunshine and its hope. 


72 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


J ohn Lincoln, father of Clare, was a fisherman, and 
spent his life off the coast of Massachusetts in pur- 
suit of his occupation ; and upon this coast in a hum- 
ble cottage, washed by the waves, his daughter was 
born. The first sound she heard from the great world 
without was the solemn music of the infinite Ocean. 
To her baby eyes the sea was her delight, and in the 
days of her childhood it had a peculiar charm and 
fascination to her. To her it was che type of the 
Infinite and the Good, and she oecame as familiar 
with it as with her home, and slie loved it almost as 
a parent, for upon it her father spent the most of his 
life, and earned his family’s support. It was the 
pleasure of her childhood years to walk by the sea- 
shore, and listen to the sounds, and to see the sights 
thereof. It became a passion with her, and when in 
trouble and grieving, or when joyful and happy, she 
would wander away alone to commune with the 
majestic Ocean. Perhaps she heard the voice of the 
great Creator in this language of the deep, speaking 
to her soul the words of infinite love and compassion, 
and perhaps here she received the inspiration that 
taught her those beautiful thoughts that so distin- 
guished her childhood. 

Thus did Clare love the sea, and many times had 
she shared its perils and its pleasures with her father. 
They had spent days and days together on his fishing 
boat cruising among the islands off the coast, encoun- 
tering storm and sunshine, and thereby she became 
quite an expert sailor, and had learned the peculiar 
language of the fishermen. She had listened with 
wondering ears to their stories and superstitions, to 
their signs of fair or foul weather, to their onaens of 
good or bad luck, and how these omens had been in- 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


73 


variably an indication of the truth, and thus had she 
become learned in this lore of the denizens of the 
deep. 

Her mother was a weakly, pale woman, with a 
» sweet, mild countenance, yet years of care and anx- 
iety had left their imprint, and had given to her face, 
once fair, the shadow of sorrow and sadness. She 
was naturally of a serious turn of mind, and this feel- 
ing early in life had ripened into firm religious con- 
victions, and her ll*^ing characteristic was faith and 
a confiding trust in Providence. At the age of eight 
years Clare had lost hef only brother, older than her- 
self by seven years, a strong, brave boy, his mother’s 
pride, and this overshadowing sorrow had beclouded 
their happy home, and the mother had never recov- 
ered from the affliction, but it gnawed at her heart 
slowly undermining her life. Clare and her mother 
were left much alone, and they derived a sweet yet 
mournful pleasure in talking of the life and the ad- 
ventures of John, their darling son and brother. 
They would bring out his toys and his treasures, and 
a little brig he had made all himself, and mingle 
their tears over these sad mementos of the loved and 
the lost, and thus in the absence of the father did they 
lead a lonely, yet an ever anxious life, for who could 
tell but that the next storm on the sea would leave 
them entirely alone in this wide, wide world. 

The perils to which the father was ever exposed were 
never out of their minds, and in the daytime they 
would watch the clouds and the flight of the birds for 
indications of fair or foul weather, and in the night 
would listen for the rising of the wind and the storm, 
ever dreaming of him who was braving the perils of 
the waves for those he so dearly loved. Often times 


74 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


in the middle of the night when a storm was impend- 
ing, and the sky overclouded with total darkness, 
would these two faithful souls build fires upon the 
bluffs by the sea, in the hope that their light might 
guide him they loved so well to a haven of secu- 
rity ; and when her mother was too weak and feeble 
to accompany her, Clare alone would hasten away 
to the bluffs with a lighted torch in her hands, and 
there remain until daylight appeared, burning her 
beacon of love to light her father to this home. 

And thus living by the sea, with its voices ever 
speaking to her of the Infinite One, with its perils 
constantly before her eyes, reminding her of the weak- 
ness and the frailty of man, with its music ever sound- 
ing in her ears the song of Faith and Love, had the 
soul of this little girl become purified and exalted, 
until at the age of thirteen years she became the beau- 
tiful child we have seen her. 

In her thirteenth summer her father, in consequence 
of the failing health of his wife, had abandoned the 
sea, and had moved with his family into the neigh- 
borhood of Pembroke Place, about one month before 
the commencement of Richard’s school. Their new 
home was humble, being a small wood-colored house, 
yet it had a pleasant little yard, and was always kept 
scrupulously neat and clean. Clare was here, as ever, 
the light and the joy of their home, however lowly 
it might have been, and her busy little hands were 
ever engaged in adorning and beautifying it ; and to 
every room, however small or poorly furnished, she 
gave an air of cheerfulness and of home. 

She had looked forward with the utmost pleasure 
to the prospect of being able to attend school the 
coming winter, for her school privileges before then 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


75 


had been few indeed. She was yet a stranger in the 
neighborhood, diffident and modest, and dreaded the 
ordeal of appearing before the scholars and teacher, 
with whom she had no acquaintance ; but the ambition 
to study surmounted all obstacles, and the prospect 
of satisfying it gave her much happiness. At length 
the day for school arrived, and Clare full of interest 
and expectation hurried away to the school-room. 
As she had feared, being a stranger among them, her 
appearance excited the curiosity of the children, but 
she soon informed them of her name and learned that 
of those around her, and at length felt at ease, and 
became the centre of a group of girls who gathered 
about her, admiring her beauty, eagerly listening to 
her charming voice. 

Thus two pleasant happy weeks passed quickly 
away. Her lessons were always perfect. How easy 
she was to learn, and how deeply did Richard become 
interested in her progress and improvement. How 
brilliant her intellect, how pure and generous her 
heart, how unassuming and simple in her manners. 
Her teacher was charmed. He thought he had never 
seen one so beautiful, so gifted, or so good. 

Monday of the third week came and Clare was ab- 
sent from her place.- Soon it became known that 
Clare’s mother was sick, and that Clare was necessa- 
rily detained at home. Richard did not know her 
parents, they were unknown to all in the neighbor- 
hood, and having but a slight acquaintance with Clare 
did not feel at liberty to call and see her, and thus 
he thought she had passed from his sight and be- 
yond his reach. The school continued on as ever, 
but all winter was Clare detained at home. During 
the last week she visited the school, and Richard in- 


76 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


vited her to engage in the spelling match. She ac- 
cepted, and he also asked her to take part in the ex- 
hibition at the close of the school. She excused her- 
self by saying, ‘‘ I never engaged in anything of the 
kind, and not having had any instructions, should be 
unable to do so with any credit to the school or my- 
self.’’ 

Richard seemed exceedingly anxious, and after 
much persuasion she consented to learn a piece and 
recite it. She committed “ The Peri at the gate of Par- 
adise,” and practiced it at th6 rehearsals preparatory 
to the exhibition. Richard’s criticisms were always 
praise, and Clare thought he did not feel at liberty 
to find fault with her because she had attended his 
school so little, and they were so slightly acquainted. 

Aft$r the spelling match had ended, and the rival 
school lay prostrate at the feet of this little conqueror, 
Richard' grasped her puny hand, and congratulated 
her most heartily, but she did not dream that in these 
congratulations were concealed the embryo love of his 
heart. She was assigned to close the exhibition for 
the reason, as she supposed, that the best pieces were 
to be delivered first, and did not even suspect that 
Richard had given her the post of honor. 

The exhibition had closed, and the scholars had 
said good-by to their teacher and associates, when 
Richard came to Clare and said, “ The night is dark, 
and the roads are not good; you ought not to go 
home alone, and I will accompany you.” 

“ Oh, I am not at all afraid of the dark, and I know 
the road perfectly, and it would be much out of your 
way,” replied Clare. 

But Richard insisted and said, “ No, no, it would 
not be right for you to go alone. I am a good 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


77 


walker, and besides I feel so bappy over the success- 
ful termination of my long school, and that its cares 
are off my mind, a walk with my little friend will 
be a real pleasure to me. I am excited over the 
exhibition, and a walk in the night air will do me 
good.” 

Clare replying, said : “I have all my life been ac- 
customed to being out in the dark, and at all times 
of night, but I should be very glad to have you walk 
with me if you really think you need the exercise, 
after having been on your feet all day and all the 
evening.” 

As they walked along together, Richard told her 
how much he had missed her from the school, and 
how sorry he was that the winter had passed without 
giving her an opportunity to study her books, and 
that he hoped she would be more fortunate at the 
ensuing summer school. 

Clare said no one could have been more disap- 
pointed than herself at the loss of the winter’s school- 
ing, for she had enjoyed the school exceedingly; 
“but,” said she, “my duty called me to my dear 
mother, and I willingly gave up that which would 
have been my highest happiness and pleasure to 
serve her in her weakness and distress.” 

Richard then inquired where she had previously 
lived, and she informed him of her life by the sea, 
her familiarity with it, and her love for it, and con- 
cluded by saying, “ I am but a poor fisherman’s 
daughter.” 

They were now nearing the little wood-colored 
house, and Richard said, “ I wish to give ‘ The poor 
fisherman’s daughter ’ this as a token of regard, the 
gift of a teacher to his little pupil. Please accept it, 


78 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


and think of your first teacher in Pembroke district 
now and then, even if you did not attend his school 
but a short time,” and taking her hand placed upon 
one of her fingers a pretty gold ring. Clare was 
utterly astonished at this demonstration of Richard. 
Glad it was so dark that he could not see her face 
very distinctly, she said, “ Why, Mr. Pembroke, what 
a foolish man you are ; I do not require anything to 
remember, always, my first teacher, after leaving my 
home by the sea. You have been so kind to me, and 
have tried so hard to assist me in my studies, and you 
need not fear that I shall forget you or your kind- 
ness. But I accept your gift, and shall always keep 
it and prize it very highly. I am a little girl, and 
have but few friends, and am glad, indeed, that 
my teacher regards me at all. There is more, much 
more danger that you forget me, and I only wish I 
had something to give you, so that I might not pass 
quite out of your mind. Let me thank you again, 
my teacher, and remind you that the fisherman’s 
daughter does not often forget.” 

Simple and childlike, glad that she had found a 
new friend, she accepted the gift of the teacher as 
she would have done that of an elder brother. They 
had now reached the gate, and Richard taking her by 
the hand, said, “ Could you give me a lock of your 
brown hair for the ring ? ” 

She laughed, and said, “ Yes, yes, and it will be 
but a sorry payment for your beautiful gift. But how 
can you get it ? I will run into the house for the 
scissors.” 

“No, no,” said Richard, “ here are mine, that I 
have used in the school,” handing them to her ; and 
she cut off a tress of her hair, and handing it to him, 


CLARE LINCOLN. 79 

said, “ I only wish it was something of more conse- 
quence.” 

Richard replied, saying, “ I shall keep it forever.” 

They entered the gate^ and Clare said, “ Here is 
the home of the poor fisherman’s daughter. Come 
and see me and I will make you a bouquet of flowers. 
I have some already in bloom in the house.” He 
promised; they shook hands heartily, said “Good- 
by,” and separated, it may be for years and may be 
forever. 

Clare and Richard had met and parted ; the school- 
master and the little pupil had said farewell, and each 
were swept along by the irresistible tide of time ; but 
this little incident, trifling as the flight of a butterfly, 
in the weary years to come was the link in the chain 
of fate that controlled their lives. And thus do little 
things pave the iron pathway we tread, and thus do 
trifles guide our wandering footsteps. 


80 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


j' 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL. 

Richard’s school closed on Friday, April 5th, 1861. 

The times were full of trouble and alarm. State 
after State was dropping out of the Union of the 
Fathers, creating a feeling of terror and uncertainty 
such as if the stars should fall from their home in the 
heavens, and men were bewildered, and knew not 
what to do or what to think. The Union formed and 
cemented together by the royal blood of an army of 
heroes such as the world had never seen before, around 
whose formation clustered memories as dear as those 
that sanctify the hearth-stone and the altar ; the Union 
revered and loved by the common people because it 
gave to them homes of peace and plenty, cherished by 
the patriot and the lover of the human kind as the 
only place in all the earth where the tree of Lib- 
erty could thrive and prosper ; the Union hallowed 
by the loved voices from Bunker Hill, Yorktown, 
and Saratoga, and circled around by a halo of glory 
that radiates with perpetual beauty and brightness 
from the names of Washington, Adams, Jefferson, 
and Hancock, — this Union, the pride and glory 
of the American name, its tower of strength and its 
anchor of safety, was in danger of dissolution and 
destruction, and men were wild with alarm, and their 
minds were paralyzed and appalled as if an earth- 
quake had swallowed a continent, and was shaking to 


THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL. 


81 


destruction the balance of the earth. They dared 
not think of the dread calamity that had befallen 
them ; they could not conceive of the consequences 
that would follow ; they could not measure the dis- 
aster that would ensue. Neighbors met each other 
and knew not how to express their feelings. They 
stood mute like heart-broken children bending over 
the dead body of their sainted parent. 

The political cauldron was boiling amidst thunder, 
lightning, and tornado, and circling around it, and 
casting into it their charms and potions, were the ad- 
vocates of secession and rebellion, and the Southern 
Confederacy was born. The seething, raging, polit- 
ical sea had snapped asunder the golden cord that 
bound the States together, and the ship containing 
the starry gems in the crown of the Union was floun- 
dering in the storm without a helm and without a 
pilot. 

A thousand wild and visionary schemes were con- 
cocted to bridge over the gulf that separated and di- 
vided the States. Some were for peace at any price ; 
some would consent to the establishment of two inde- 
pendent governments out of the fragments of the old 
Union ; some would divide it into four parts ; others 
would have each State an independent sovereignty, 
while others would surrender the Union altogether, 
and have a dictator to assume supreme control over 
the nation. 

On Friday, the 12th day of April, 1861, the first 
gun was fired upon Fort Sumter. Now all was 
changed. It broke the spell that had appalled the 
nation. It cleared away all doubts and fears. It 
purified the air. It sounded throughout the length 
and the breadth of the land, through the valleys and 


82 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


over the mountains into every homestead, and the 
people were aroused from their stupor ; they were 
paralyzed and bewildered no longer, but from the 
workshop and the farm, from the anvil and the forge, 
from the ploughshare and the weaver’s loom, from 
the pulpit and the rostrum, from the church and the 
family altar, went forth one firm, united, determined, 
brave, and patriotic cry that sounded around the 
world, and said, “ The Union of the Fathers., our hope 
and our love., our strength and our pride., the cherished 
mother of our greatness., and the guardian of our name., 
and the home of our homes., must and shall he pre- 
served., even if it requires billions of money and rivers 
ofhloodr 

Answering to this battle cry of the North, there 
came from the united South, borne upon every breeze 
and sounding from sea to sea, the shout equally brave 
and equally determined, saying : “ We will maintain 
the Southern Confederacy with our lives U'* and then 
the war of the Titans began, and all the world looked 
on in wonder. 

All winter Richard had watched the gathering 
storm with profoundest interest, and with a clear head 
had prophesied a fearful contest. In it he saw look- 
ing through the air that surrounded Bunker Hill the 
culmination of that old warfare between Liberty and 
Slavery, Democracy and Monarchy, Right and Wrong, 
that had raged in one place and another all over the 
earth since the morning stars sang together. Upon 
one side of the combat he saw arrayed the Spirit of 
Freedom scarred by the blows of many a strife, but 
clothed in the robes of dazzling purity, in the shadow 
of whose influence the human intellect, unshackled 
and unchained, entered upon a career of wonderful 


THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL. 


83 


growth and development, offering to man the fruits 
of Peace and Equality, and erecting for the toiling 
millions happy homes, around whose blazing firesides 
came thronging in all the comforts of life, smiling 
children, free labor, free schools, free churches, free 
thoughts, and free men. Upon the other side he saw 
the Spirit of Slavery and Oppression that robs man of 
his manhood and makes him a brute, — that accursed 
spirit which lives upon the idea that one man is better 
than another because of the color of his skin or the 
place of his birth, — clothed in the garments of aris- 
tocracy and privilege ; gathering in all the forces of 
wrong, drilling, marshaling, maneuvering and arrang- 
ing them, preparatory to a fearful charge against the 
inherent God-given rights of man. This to him was 
an old, old warfare, and the fields of blood where these 
hostile and opposing forces had met in deadly array 
were dotted all over the earth ; and through all the 
ages, and from these sanguinary battle grounds* there 
came voices calling for man to prepare for this, its 
last great conflict, and inspiring him with courage, 
strength, and hope. Thus were the forces gathering, 
and the question was not that of Union or no Union, 
but it was : Shall Liberty, Equality, and the Rights 
of Man be lost forever and blotted from the face of 
the earth ? 

To Richard’s New England view he saw as in a 
dream the Goddess of Liberty adorned with beauty 
and glory, girded about with the Sword of Justice, 
wearing the sparkling crown of Truth, Equality, and 
Freedom, bearing in her uplifted hand the Stars and 
Stripes, banner of the Union and emblem of majesty 
and power, marching at the head of a grand army 
of heroes a million strong, entering the field of death 


84 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


to fight for the inherent rights of human nature. 
Upon the other side of the field he thought he saw 
the Queen of Slavery come, with serried hosts, bear- 
ing the Stars and Bars, emblem of oppression and 
tyranny, and the combat opened. Men from every 
race and every climate were gathered on the heights 
overlooking the field, to witness this battle of the 
giants. For a moment there was a death-like si- 
lence, like the dread quiet that precedes the fearful 
hurricane and foretells the coming storm, and soon 
the storm burst forth. At a given signal a wild, wild 
charge was made, and the two armies swept forward 
like a tornado, and came together, causing a shock 
that shook the earth from centre to circumference, 
while the noise from a thundering cannonade reached 
the stars. Long did the battle rage in even scale, 
and doubtful was the issue. Deeds of valor on 
either side, like those upon the field of Troy, when 
the gods fought with Ajax and Hector, were enacted, 
and repeated again and again, crowning the Ameri- 
can soldier with a fame that will never die. At first 
the Stars and Stripes were sometimes trailed in the 
dust, then the Stars and Bars went down but rose 
again ; and now the pent-up fury of ages of hatred 
and rll-will is spending its rage in deeds of blood. 
At last the frenzied maddened hosts, with thinned 
and depleted ranks, crippled, wounded, and bleeding, 
made a final desperate charge resolved upon victory 
or death. It was the charge of Progress against Ig- 
norance, of Civilization against Barbarism, of Light 
against Darkness. The charge was made and the 
battle ended. The smoke cleared away, the rattling 
of musketry and the roar of cannon ceased, heaps of 
dead and dying were piled upon the field, the groans 


THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL. 


85 


of the wounded rent the air, but the Stars and Stripes 
scarred and battle worn, tattered and torn, floated in 
triumph, and the Stars and Bars had gone down for- 
ever. Slavery was dead, and its putrid carcass no 
longer tainted the pure air of free America. 

Thus dreamed Richard, the 'Massachusetts boy, in 
the early months of 1861. Was it all a dream ? 
The shot at Fort Sumter set his soul on fire ; he 
became frenzied with patriotism, and the love of Lib- 
erty and his country ; and never had the Union of 
the Fathers, to him, been so radiant with glory as 
when the red hand of treason was raised against it 
threatening it with destruction. Pembroke Place 
had witnessed the birth of the Union ; it had nur- 
tured American Liberty in its infancy, had rocked it 
in its cradle, had seen it grow strong and powerful, 
the wonder of all the earth, the hope of mankind, 
and it should not see it die. Of what value were 
the memories that clustered around the dear old 
homestead, if the Union it had helped to form per- 
ished ? Naught but a source of heart-siqkening re- 
gret and sorrow. No, no. The Union must not be 
destroyed. It was the source of all our blessings, 
and to break it in pieces would destroy so much of 
our life and our hope. Richard was ready to fight 
for the Union of the Fathers, the home of his ances- 
tors, and the memories that sanctified both. 

A horseman came from the town riding at the top 
of his speed, and shouting through the neighborhood 
that Fort Sumter had been fired upon, and that the 
war had actually begun. Richard and his father 
were in the field ploughing when they heard the cry. 
The son dropped the plough in the furrow, and with 
a trembling voice said, “ Father, do you hear what 


86 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


the horseman says ? They have fired upon the old 
flag ! Oh, can it be possible that the Union is in 
danger ? Dear, dear Pembroke ! ” 

His father, agitated indeed but somewhat calmer, 
replied, “ Peace, my son. The Union cannot be de- 
stroyed. It is too old and too strong. It is too dear 
to the people. There are too many Pembroke Places 
that hold it together. The South have many times 
made boastful threats if they could not have things 
all their own way, but they have not heretofore at- 
tempted to carry them into execution, and I do not 
believe they will be so foolish now as to seriously at- 
tempt to destroy the government.” 

“ But,” answered the son, “ they have already 
fired upon Fort Sumter, and are organizing their 
forces, drilling and arming them. This means war, 
and if they were never in earnest before, I believe 
they are so now.” 

Then the father said, himself astonished almost 
beyond thought, “It is only a few frenzied crazy 
men at the South who are creating this excitement, 
and the mass of the people love the Union, and will 
not be deluded into an attempt to destroy it.” 

“ Oh, ,the times are full of trouble,” said Richard. 
“ But the other night I dreamed of a fearful war be- 
tween the North and the South, and it is coming. It 
cannot be delayed, and it will be a war between Lib- 
erty and Slavery. Let us go to the house and tell 
mother what has happened ; why remain here turning 
the furrows, when in a year’s time the cannon-ball 
and the shell may plough the very ground upon 
which we tread.” 

There was no more work in the neighborhood that 
day. Men were seen rushing hither and thither, or 


THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL, 


87 


gathering in groups, talking, consulting, full of as- 
tonishment and wonder, but ready to meet the worst. 
Richard entered his father’s house. A thousand 
voices seemed to speak to him. From every nook 
and corner of the rooms, from the pictures upon the 
walls, and even from the old trees in the yard, there 
came brave words of courage and trust ; trust and 
confidence in him, the representative of the Pilgrims, 
the son of Revolutionary sires. Should they blush 
for their heir, and mourn over the degeneration of 
their name and their house in these later times ? It 
needed not the inspiration of this sacred presence to 
cause Richard to march forward in the pathway of 
danger and of duty. He spent the afternoon in 
cleaning and putting in order the musket of his great 
grandfather James, and there came teeming into his 
mind the memories of him and his history, as he 
called to life again the old gun that had seen the 
glories of Bunker Hill and Lexington. He gar- 
nished and made bright the sword that had flashed 
and glistened where Warren fell, until it sparkled 
again with its wonted patriotic fire. It had helped 
to hew out and form the Union, and it should not see 
it perish. 

On the 15th of April came the call for seventy-five 
thousand volunteers, and Richard the instant he heard 
of it, without any hesitation, with no doubt as to his 
duty, and without any fear, and forgetting his last 
year in college, made up his mind to join the army. 
Before he made known his determination to his father 
and mother he repaired to the room where hung the 
pictures of his ancestors, and among them that of his 
great grandfather, by whose side now glistened his 
colonel’s sword, and gazed upon these precious treas- 


88 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


ures with an interest never before realized. He 
seemed to commune with them, and their words came 
to him as from the tomb, saying : “ Son of the Pem- 
brokes, the Union of your fathers is in danger. 
Can you doubt ? Can you hesitate ? Your kindred 
from the skies look down upon you and expect you 
to do your duty. Save the Union our blood formed 
and fertilized, or die in the attempt.” 

Forth from the room he came inspired with a great 
purpose, yet calm and undisturbed in appearance. It 
was the calmness of a heroic resolve, the quiet and 
peace of a great soul stirred to its depths by a mighty 
resolution. He sought his father and mother, and 
approached them, pale and thoughtful, and said : 
“ This is a time of trial and of sacrifice. A great 
danger threatens our homes and firesides, and the 
Union we love.” 

His mother feared from his looks what was to 
come, and the first thought of it sent such a throb 
of anguish to her mother’s heart that she exclaimed : 
“ O Richard, my dear boy, you are not thinking 
of going to the war? No, no! How can we give 
you up I Think of your last year at college.” 

“ Mother dear,” he replied, “ and father too, you 
know I love you better than I do my life, but to-mor- 
row I leave you. My country calls me and I must 
go. All your lives you have labored and struggled 
to save Pembroke Place for me. Now I must help 
save our country for us all. It will be a long and 
a bloody struggle. If I go down in the strife my an- 
cestors will proudly receive me in their arms ; if I 
return it will be to enjoy with you the blessings of 
smiling peace in the unbroken Union of our fathers.” 

Pale and trembling, yet with a countenance bespeak- 


THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL. 


89 


ing sublime trust and confidence, he knelt before his 
mother, and placed his head in her lap. The father 
drew near, and kneeling before his Maker, asked His 
blessing to rest upon the son and the country he 
loved. Then the mother, with a courage and a self- 
sacrifice that would have crowned with immortal glory 
the matron of old Sparta, said, “ Go, my son ; I give 
you to my country and to my God.” 

The night passed slowly over the sleepless family 
at Pembroke Place, and the sun arose bright and 
beautiful in the morning. What a morning ! The 
fearful hour of separation had come ! Richard with 
the burnished musket upon his shoulder stood in the 
door ready to leave. He embraced his mother, but 
neither could speak, and neither shed a tear. And 
he was gone. 

A regiment was forming at Boston, and Richard 
purposed joining it, and hurried away to the village 
to go in the company of others who were about start- 
ing. On his way thither he called to bid good-by to 
Clare. He had not seen her since the day his school 
closed. He found she was not at home. A piercing 
pang shot through his heart, but he could not falter 
now. He must on to the village and join the com- 
pany there. He left -a message with her mother for 
Clare, “ Tell her,” said Richard “ to remember the 
parting at the gate, in the years to come.” 

In every age and in every clime have women glo- 
riously died for their kindred, their country, and their 
homes. Heroines whose names cover the page of his- 
tory with a blaze of light, whose renown fills the 
earth, are cherished around the altars of humanity; 
but in all the world of human history and human 
love there is no brighter spot than that wherein is 


90 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


recorded the sublime story of the American mother 
calmly delivering her son to death that his country 
might live. 

Bowker, undisturbed by this earthquake that was 
rocking the Union from end to end, undismayed by 
the flight of time, and still clinging to his darling ob- 
ject, had watched these events from afar, and now 
more than ever before did he think that this son and 
heir would yet be the means of delivering into his 
possession the farm he had so long coveted. 


alarms. 


91 


CHAPTER IX. 
war’s alarms. 

Grandly did the nation respond to the call of 
President Lincoln for troops to defend the nation’s 
life. The pages of history blaze with the deeds of 
sainted hero and patriot ; they tell of acts sublime 
and glorious that stamp divinity upon the soul, and 
make it the offspring of Infinity ; but not in all the 
record is there anything to equal the majestic march 
of the American citizen, to battle and to death, around 
the altars of the Union. Not among the storied treas- 
ures of humanity, gathered and preserved through all 
the ages, wherein are garnered and hoarded the god- 
like acts of man that crown him with unfading glory 
and ally him to the Eternal, is there anything to sur- 
pass the exalted deeds of the citizen soldier in defense 
of human rights, liberty, home, and father-land. All 
things were subordinated to this grand idea. The 
farmer left the plough in the furrow, the smith his 
forge, the merchant his counter, the student his 
school, the lawyer his clients, and the minister his 
flock, and all hurried away to the battle-field and to 
grim misery and death, for the country of their love 
and the home of their hearts. 

Within fifty hours after receiving the call of the 
President for seventy-five thousand troops, glorious 
old Massachusetts had gathered three regiments of 
volunteers, armed and equipped them, and started 


92 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


them on their way to Washington, and Richard be- 
longed to one of the regiments, having joined the — th 
Massachusetts, and thus he plunged headlong into the 
war. Little did he dream of the proportions it would 
assume in the four years that were to follow. Little 
did he realize that his vision was to be surpassed in 
the grandeur of the combat, in its duration, and in the 
numbers engaged. The country was one blaze of ex- 
citement from the pines of Maine to the plains of 
Kansas, and troops came pouring into the nation’s 
capital from every direction. Upon the 19th of 
April, a day ever memorable in the annals of Amer- 
ica as commemorating the battle of Lexington, in 
1775, the — th Massachusetts regiment, to which Rich- 
ard belonged, in passing through Baltimore, hurrying 
on their way to defend Washington, was fired into, 
stoned, and pelted by a mob of roughs and despera- 
does, and several members of the regiment were 
killed and others wounded. Then a tornado of patri- 
otic fire swept over the land such as was never wit- 
nessed before, demanding that the life of the govern- 
ment be saved and that treason suffer the penalty of 
its gigantic crime. Richard escaped the mob un- 
harmed, and as he neared the city, and looked out for 
the first time upon the nation’s capital, his heart 
swelled with emotions never felt before ; and as he 
gazed upon this magnificent structure, type of the 
nation’s Unity and Strength, he consecrated himself 
anew to his country. He was assigned to service not 
far from Mount Vernon, and upon the first opportu- 
nity obtained leave to visit the tomb of the Father of 
his country. He returned from this hallowed ground 
ready to do and to die in the cause of Freedom. About 
the middle of May following he concluded to enlist for 


WARS ALARMS. 


93 


the war and joined the — th Massachusetts regiment. 
His knowledge of the tactics acquired while at the 
academy enabled him to be of much service in drilling 
and organizing companies, and shortly he received, 
unsolicited, a commission as captain of his regiment. 
He remained in camp near Washington for a month 
or more, and had become somewhat familiar with camp 
life. His letters to his mother, written by the camp 
fires, were the embodiment of patriotic ardor ; and now 
and then when alone he would take from his pocket a 
lock of beautiful brown hair he had carried with him 
since a certain day early in the April preceding, and 
look upon it long and thoughtfully, dreaming per- 
haps of the far-off future, or it may be regretting 
the cruel fate that had hurried him so suddenly far 
away from the dear associations of home. 

Unused to war and its delays, frenzied at the great 
crime they conceived had been committed against 
their country, and impatient that it should be speedily 
punished, the insane cry of “ On to Richmond ” 
hurled the gathered forces without drill or discipline 
towards the Confederate capital, and Richard, in the 
latter days of July, found himself in the midst of the 
battle of Bull Run. At the head of his company he 
had fought desperately, and had won many laurels ; 
but in his excitement, for this was the first time he 
had been under fire, he pushed his company far in 
advance of the line of battle, and the general order to 
fall back did not reach him. At length he discovered 
his perilous situation, and found he was entirely sur- 
rounded by the enemy in overwhelming force, and 
that escape was impossible. He knew enough of the 
ways of war to know that he would be searched if 
taken prisoner, and disarmed, and having about one 


94 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


hundred dollars with him was puzzled to know how 
to save it. He finally concluded to try the experi- 
ment of putting it into the lining of his pants’ leg near 
the heel of his boot. This he did and very quickly, 
and scarcely had he finished when a Confederate officer 
rode up to him, and said with an imperious, sneering 
voice, “ I demand the surrender of this company of 
Yankees.” 

“ Sir,” said Eichard, “ we are Yankees sure enough, 
and are proud of the name, but we are also United 
States soldiers, and of this we are prouder still. We 
are surrounded by one hundred times our own force, 
and further resistance would be but a useless waste 
of blood. W e therefore surrender and are your pris- 
oners.” The company was searched and disarmed, 
but Eichard saved his money, and then with other 
prisoners they were started off for Eichmond. The 
Confederates were flushed with victory, excited and 
insolent. On the way to their capital the officer hav- 
ing the prisoners in charge became talkative, and 
among other things asked Eichard, “Do you not 
know that it is a gross violation of the Constitution of 
the United States to send troops upon the soil of this 
sovereign State of Virginia ? Do you not know that 
the government has no power to coerce a State ? ” 

The cool insolence of the inquiry amused Eichard, 
but he calmly and manfully replied : “ The United 
States is a government, and it has the right, and it is 
its duty to put down rebellion and punish treason, and 
it will do both before this thing is over.” 

“ This thing, as you call it,” the officer replied, “ is 
pretty nearly over already. We shall be in Washing- 
ton in five days, and then talk about putting down 
rebellion and punishing treason. Who is guilty of 
treason I should be glad to know ? ” 


WARS ALARMS. 


95 


“ I will inform you then,” said Richard. “ You are, 
and if you had your deserts would suffer its punish- 
ment. And let me tell you another thing. Wash- 
ington is not the United States, and if it was, you 
can’t take it, and never will.” 

Thus they journeyed along and reached Richmond 
the next day but one, and were confined in a tempo- 
rary prison, closely surrounded by a guard of soldiers. 
They were locked into separate cells at night, but the 
building was a wooden structure and not very secure. 
The first night as Richard was being fastened into his 
cell, the cell next his was also being taken possession 
of, and he thought he heard the voice of J ohnny Flint. 
He became very anxious to know if his old friend was 
so near him. He had not known of his enlisting. He 
therefore examined his cell to ascertain if there was 
any way to communicate with the one adjoining, and 
found that the partition was but rough boards, and 
before morning he managed to communicate with 
Johnny, and was exceedingly happy to find a dear 
friend so close at hand. They also found means in 
the day-time to interchange words, for in those early 
days the guards had not fully learned their duty. 
This prison life continued thus for one month, but in 
the mean time Richard and Johnny, finding their 
prison was but a temporary structure formerly used 
for drying and curing tobacco, had by working every 
night, for a long time in utter darkness and with the 
utmost care, succeeded in removing a board from the 
floors of their cells, and had made their way to the 
ground beneath. The building rested upon a stone 
foundation, laid without mortar, and they found the 
stones easy to remove. They had to excavate consid- 
erable earth to make room to reach the wall ; this they 


96 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


did with their hands and feet and by the use of such 
pieces of wood as they found beneath the floor. They, 
in time, made a trench in the ground leading from 
their cells to the outer wall of the building, sufficiently 
large to enable them to crawl through it. Reaching 
the wall they removed as many of the stones as pos- 
sible, without making an opening to the outside, and 
while prosecuting this labor, which required a month’s 
time and could only be engaged in between the hours 
of twelve and two in the morning, they were in a 
state of constant anxiety, for at all times they could 
hear the tramp of the guards, and knew that the least 
accident in removing or replacing the board to the 
floor, or in any other manner, would lead at once to 
detection and exposure. 

The building being so insecure, it was guarded very 
strictly upon the outside, and in order to render their 
escape at all probable, the night when it should be 
undertaken must be peculiarly favorable, otherwise, 
failure would be certain. 

Johnny, impatient at his captivity, daring and brave, 
was eager to undertake the exploit at once, but the 
caution and prudence of Richard prevailed in their 
councils, and they patiently waited days and days for 
the right time to come. And it came at last. It was 
upon a hot and sultry night in the latter part of Sep- 
tember ; the day had been peculiarly hot and suffocat- 
ing, and towards evening they heard the mutterings 
of distant thunder. The sounds became more distinct, 
and as the darkness came on, it was evident a stormy 
night was at hand. At about ten o’clock a fearful 
thunder-storm burst upon the city ; the rain poured 
down in torrents, and the wind, which but a little 
time before had been lulled to perfect rest, now raged 


WARS ALARMS. 


97 


with renewed energy, as if trying to regain the lost 
time. This the prisoners thought was their oppor- 
tunity, and it came none too soon, for they had over- 
heard the guards talking that very day, and had 
thereby been informed that the next day the prison- 
ers would all be removed to a more secure prison. 

Now for the escape. They removed the boards of 
their floors, this time carefully replacing them from 
underneath, and in their trench approached the wall 
and listened. Hearing nothing but the noise of the 
storm, they removed the few remaining stones in the 
opening of the wall, and crawled out. The rain was 
still pouring down and the wind blowing a gale. They 
listened again, and now could hear the tramp of the 
guards ; and calculating from the sounds they could now 
and then hear, when they were farthest from them on 
their beat, they slowly and cautiously passed the guard 
line without discovery, the storm and the darkness ren- 
dering this comparatively easy. They made at once for 
the river, the storm pelting in their faces, and reaching 
it, ascertained the direction of the current by putting 
their hands in the water, and then at the top of their 
speed started up the stream. In the course of two or 
three hours they came to a ferry ; there was a little 
hut on the bank of the river, and a dim light burning 
therein. They cautiously approached it, and looking 
in saw an aged negro nodding in his chair. Upon 
making this discovery they held a consultation. They 
must cross the river, and here was their, only oppor- 
tunity. Said Richard : “We must cross the river by 
some means, and the negroes have, so far as I have 
seen, been ready to help the Union soldiers. I believe 
it safe to ask this old fellow to ferry us over the river ; 
what do you think ? ” 

7 


98 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“We might as well try him. If we remain on 
this side until light, we are pretty sure of being re- 
captured. I have never yet heard of a black rebel 
in the war. Let us try him,” answered Johnny. 

Arousing the sleeping ferryman, Richard said to 
him without hesitation, “We are Union soldiers, 
just escaped from prison. Will you take us over the 
river ? ” 

“ I ’ll do dat massa, but I’ze ’fraid you see trouble 
on tudder side.” 

“ What trouble can there be, uncle ? ” 

“ Dare sojers ober dar to catch Union folks. I, 
useter to send Union folk ober on my own ’count, but 
now I ’ze forced to do it.” 

“ Who forces you ? ” 

“ De rebels. Dey make me do it, so dey catch 
dem on tudder side.” 

“Well we must go over at any rate. Here is your 
money.” 

“ Keep de money, massa. Can’t take money for 
sending you to de rebel sojers.” 

They were ferried across, and when stepping upon 
the shore were confronted by Confederate cavalry, 
who at once demanded their surrender. 

It seems that for months the old negro had been 
in the habit of sending Union men and soldiers across 
the river, to. aid them in their escape, but this coming 
to the knowledge of the Confederate authorities, they 
had granted the old man his life upon this one con- 
dition, that he should continue to ferry Union people 
across ; and they stationed a company of soldiers 
upon the other side, to capture them the instant they 
set foot upon the shore. 

The timely warning of the negro had prepared 


WAR^S ALARMS. 


99 


the fugitives for the reception they would meet, and 
probably saved them from capture. The storm was 
still raging and the darkness complete, as the demand 
to surrender came from the soldiers. Richard answered 
the demand by shouting through the storm and the 
darkness, “ We will surrender when captured.” 
Then he sprang down the bank followed by Johnny, 
in a place he knew the horsemen could not come. A 
volley of bullets came whistling after them, but they 
were shots in the dark and were harmless. The 
boldness of the movement took the horsemen entirely 
by surprise, and they could not follow because of the 
darkness. The fugitives kept along the stream for a 
time, but hearing nothing to indicate pursuit, boldly 
pushed out into the country, encountering hills, 
marsh, swamp, brush, and wood. Just before day- 
light the storm ceased, and at the first appearance of 
dawn they looked anxiously for houses. Hurrying 
along until there was more light, they found them- 
selves at the edge of a forest, and discovered a cabin 
in the distance. They conjectured that it was a 
slave residence, from its appearance and surround- 
ings, and anxiously watched for confirmation of their 
belief. At length, a middle-aged colored woman 
came out of the house' with a wooden pail upon her 
arm, and proceeded to a spring a few steps away, for 
water. 

Richard and Johnny now came out in sight, and 
the woman discovered them, and seeming to take in 
the situation at once, made motions to them to come 
to her. They did so, and trusting to their belief 
that the slaves were universally in favor of the Union 
cause, informed her that they were Northern soldiers 
escaped from prison ^t Richmond. Then she said, 


100 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“I knowed all ’bout it massa. We colr’d folks 
know a t’ing or two. Union sojers our friends and 
we am deirs.” 

And so it was from the beginning to the end. The 
slaves knew the issue exactly, and were always true 
to the government and true to themselves. There 
was an intuitive knowledge among them, that ar- 
rayed them on the side of the Union. They seemed 
to have known long before the whites acknowledged 
to have learned it, that the war would result in their 
freedom, and they looked upon it as the work of 
Providence to effect this result. 

At the shanty of this slave woman the prisoners 
remained concealed all day, and at night pursued 
their journey again. Before doing so, however, the 
slave provided them with food for the night, and 
gave them minute and particular directions where to 
go. They were informed that by one night’s travel 
they could reach the house of James Stanley, a noted 
Union man, who lived on the road to Washington, 
and she gave them a careful description of the house 
and the family. 

Again our heroes plunged out into the darkness 
and the night, to make their way through an ene- 
my’s country. They must travel twenty miles be- 
fore the light of the morning, to reach the house 
described by the slave woman. The country was 
overrun by Confederate soldiers, scouting and patrol- 
ling in every direction ; signal lights were burning 
upon every hill-top ; and recruits leaving the hamlets 
and villages at all hours of the day and the night, 
hurrying on to Richmond to be organized into regi- 
ments. The task of traveling through such a coun- 
try, at such a time, was beset with many difficul- 


> 7 ^ 72 ’^ ALARMS. 


101 


ties. Richard and Johnny appreciated all this, and 
on their journey avoided the neighborhood of towns 
and the highways, and kept in the fields and woods. 
Once in the middle of the night they heard the 
baying of blood-hounds and the tramp of horse- 
men, and feared they were being pursued ; but the 
sounds died away in another direction, and they con- 
cluded a slave had escaped or a Union man was be- 
ing hunted down. 

In the gray light of the morning they discovered a 
house answering the description of the one they were 
looking for, and concealed themselves for a while to 
await developments. Shortly they observed a white 
man going from the house to the horse barn. In a 
few moments he reappeared with a span of horses 
attached to a wagon, with a plough and harrow on 
board, and started for the fields. The sight aroused 
Johnny’s attention, and he exclaimed at once: “ That 
is a New England scene. The proprietor of this 
farm is not a slave-owner, and I am not afraid to go 
to the house.” 

They then came out from their concealment and 
approached the house. At the door they met a mid- 
dle-aged man with a kindly look, and asked his name, 
and being answered that it was James Stanley, they 
informed him who they were, and how they happened 
to come to his house. At first Mr. Stanley was in- 
clined to be suspicious, having been warned by the 
Confederate authorities that he must leave the State 
or join more heartily in their cause, and the thought 
came to his mind that these men were disguised offi- 
cers, who were seeking to obtain evidence against him 
so that his loyalty to the Confederacy might be dis- 
proved. But the looks and the manner of the young 


102 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


men reassured him, and upon Richard taking from its 
hiding place his Eastern money, and offering it as a 
pledge of their sincerity, he became convinced and ad- 
mitted them to the house, and was not slow in pro- 
viding them with all the comforts and luxuries it af- 
forded. Soon the family appeared, and the tired 
fugitives felt happy at their good fortune. 

The house was a large wooden structure, situated 
in a grove of trees with pleasant verandas entirely 
surrounding it, and was evidently the property of a 
well to do farmer in easy, if not affluent circum- 
stances. The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Stan- 
ley, aged about forty-five years, and two daughters, 
Kate and Lizzie, aged respectively seventeen and ten 
years. Kate was a fine appearing young lady, highly 
educated for her age, a beautiful singer, with light 
hair, fair complexion, and blue, laughing eyes. The 
young people soon became acquainted, and from the 
first Johnny and Kate appeared like old friends. What 
mystery there was about it, or why it so happened, 
yet true it is that from the first moment they beheld 
each other, they seemed contented and happy, as if 
they had found a precious treasure after a long search. 
They were both fine musicians, and but a short time 
elapsed before they blended their voices in glorious 
harmony at the piano, and this mingling of their voices 
was but a picture of the stronger union taking place 
in their hearts. 

And thus the day passed pleasantly, yet not with- 
out considerable anxiety, for the house was looked 
upon suspiciously by the people of the surrounding 
country, because of the Union sentiments of the 
owner, and Richard and Johnny were careful to keep 
out of the sight of persons passing during the day- 


WARS ALARMS, 


103 


time, but the attentions of the daughters rendered 
their imprisonment pleasant rather than irksome. As 
the evening drew near, Richard began to make prep- 
arations for pursuing their journey, but his companion 
seemed chained to the spot, and made an urgent ap- 
peal to remain yet for another day, and his desire was 
earnestly seconded by Kate and her parents. At last 
Richard reluctantly yielded to their joint persuasions. 
Soon the darkness drew its friendly mantle over the 
earth, and forth walked Johnny and Kate, arm in 
arm, round and round the veranda, and among the 
trees, in the sweet companionship of the first moments 
of new-born love. Richard, by himself, wandered 
away alone, perhaps to commune with the beautiful 
face he had left behind, whose image was so impressed 
upon his heart, and to recall the happy days of the 
early spring-time, which now seemed so long ago, 
when that image became his all in all. In his wan- 
derings he came to a humble house in which he heard 
sweet music. He listened, and soon discovered that 
the inmates were a negro family, and that they were 
singing “ The Year of Jubilee has come,” in a joyful, 
triumphant voice, which seemed to speak the language 
of a hope long deferred but now about to be realized. 
The door was open and he stood before it, but the 
singing suddenly ceased. He entered the door, and 
said, “ Pray do not let me disturb your singing ; I love 
to hear it. I am stopping with Mr. Stanley for the 
night, and I know he is your friend, as I am.” 

This reassured the family, and they entered into 
conversation with the stranger. The members of the 
household were a negro man past the middle-age, and 
his wife, and two small children, apparently grind- 
children of the old people. 


104 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“Yes, yes, massa, the year oh Jubilee hab come. 
We looked for him many year, but now he am hear,” 
said the old negro with the utmost feeling, tears of 
joy being in his eyes. 

Richard said he hoped the fetters of the slave would 
fall in the fury of the coming contest. 

“ Yes, ha, ha! Massa Lincum make us free. We 
waited for his coming long time. We’ze growing old, 
but he come before we died, and we knowed he would. 
Dis am the year ob Jubilee I Ha, ha I and all de 
black folks knows it,” said the old slave, and he spoke 
as if his race had long been looking for deliverance 
from bondage, and that they saw in the coming strife 
their salvation. This was a religious feeling with 
them, and they heard in the roaring of the cannon the 
thunders of the great Jehovah proclaiming their de- 
liverance. This manifestation of deep religious feel- 
ing and sentiment among the down-trodden slaves 
greatly interested Richard, and he returned from his 
wanderings with a thoughtful brow, to find Johnny 
and his companion still treading with joyful, busy 
feet, the new world their meeting had opened to their 
view. 

The night passed by bringing with it sweet dreams 
to the weary fugitives, and the following day was 
spent as before, except that Johiiny and Kate opened 
wider and wider the lips of their burning love, and 
came nearer and nearer that blissful period when two 
hearts are one. As night again came on, Richard 
would listen to no further delay, although Johnny at 
that moment would have surrendered the Union of 
the Fathers for a union with one of their daughters. 

They were provided with every comfort, and given 
the necessary directions for the pursuit of their jour- 


WARS ALARMS. 


105 


ney. Johnny promised again and again to renew his 
visit when smiling peace should return, and before if 
the fortunes of war permitted ; and grasping the hand 
of her he loved, and imprinting on her willing lips a 
burning kiss, again the prisoners pursued their peril- 
ous way. 

Thus they journeyed on and on, traveling from 
station to station along the great underground rail- 
road, upon which in the earlier days were carried 
chiefly colored passengers in their flight from the land 
of freedom to the snows of Canada. 


I 


106 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


CHAPTER X. 

DRIFTING ALONG. 

Who can recall from the dusky realms the terrible 
days and years from 1861 to 1865? Who can re- 
build the hopes and the fears, the anxieties and dread 
alarms, of that eventful period ? A whole world of 
history is sinking into oblivion. Of the millions of 
men who engaged in the great battles of Freedom and 
Slavery; of the army of heroes, each one of whom 
made a glorious record in that world-renowned strug- 
gle, whose deeds of bravery and sublime courage not 
only saved but purified and redeemed the country of 
our love, how little is known of the lives, the thoughts, 
and the hopes of each one of them. Great names 
survive, and fame wreathes its garlands around them ; 
but the soldier, who by his unyielding bravery and 
tenacity of purpose, by his long and wearying marches 
in the scorching sun and blinding dust to the battle- 
field and to death made the famous hero immortal, 
is forgotten. 

And so written history, while it sometimes magni- 
fies little things, often fails to mention other acts and 
deeds which would adorn the annals of humanity. 
It is at best a mere skeleton, a bare outline indicat- 
ing the landmarks in the rise and progress of civili- 
zation, or the leading events in the life of here and 
there a single man, while the great mass of men and 
women with their seething ocean of thoughts, strug- 


DRIFTING ALONG. 


107 


gles, and trials, sink into oblivion and are forgotten 
forever. Of the teeming millions who now people the 
earth or who have gone before us, each one of whose 
lives are or were circled around with a world of his- 
tory, a mysterious volume of thought, feeling, and sen- 
timent, — thoughts akin to those of a god, and noble, 
generous feelings, high purposes and great resolves, 
enacted, repeated, and performed in the obscurity of 
private life, for the love of virtue, generosity, and 
truth, and which at once reveal the divine within the 
human soul, — how little we know of the common life 
of each individual. How little do we know of those 
events that make up the every-day history of the 
common life of the common man. The world is full 
of history. The volumes that tell the story of life 
and growth are upon every hand ; they cumber the 
earth upon which we tread ; they burden the very air 
we breathe, and the record reaches the skies. Daily, 
hourly, yea, as the clock ticks the seconds away, do 
these records end in mystery, incomplete and unfin- 
ished, and the monumental stone marks the spot 
where the story closed, but forever points in love and 
trust to the better land where it is resumed, and yet 
the great world sweeps on unheeding. We would 
rescue from forgetfulness a few chapters from this un- 
written volume, and thereby record a page of common 
life, the like of which is daily transpiring before our 
eyes, but which we heed not. 

Kichard and John made good their escape and 
joined their regiments. A winter of inactivity, anx- 
iety, and suspense, in the defenses around Washington, 
was not among the least of the trials that severely 
tested their qualities as soldiers. Months and months 
of waiting to be shot at is not a pleasant pastime, and 
the hours passed slowly and heavily. 


108 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


In the following spring John received a captain’s 
commission, and was sent with, a detachment of 
mounted men to make a raid in the direction of Rich- 
mond. He entered upon the expedition with the 
highest hopes, for he fondly cherished the belief that 
his good fortune would bring him again to the pre- 
cious home of her whom he saw in his dreams, and 
who was the hope of his waking moments, — the sa- 
cred abode of Kate Stanley. 

The command reached the vicinity of the Stanley 
mansion, and John, leaving his lieutenant in charge, 
dashed away at full speed to spend a moment with 
his darling. He quickly found the house, but alas ! it 
was empty and deserted, not a sign of life around or 
about it, and his fond hopes and expectations were 
grievously disappointed. He returned to his duty sad 
and sorrowful, a picture of discomfiture and distress ; 
but he was not the man to be discouraged at small 
difiiculties, and he then and there made a great re- 
solve, that it should be the business of his life to 
search for and to find the idol of his heart. He would 
follow her to the ends of the earth ; he would live for 
her alone, for what would existence be without her ? 
A barren desert, a withered tree. Oh, mysterious 
passion that so consumes our hearts, that makes or 
unmakes us at its will, what is it and from whence 
does it come ? 

The scouting party returned, and soon the great 
Peninsular campaign commenced, and Richard and 
John, after a separation of nearly a year, came together 
again and found themselves fighting side by side in 
the fearful battle of White Oak Swamp. What pen 
can describe that terrible encounter ? Oh, the butch- 
ery, the carnage, the tears, and the woes of outrageous 
war. 


DRIFTING ALONG. 


109 


Richard and John were in the midst of the fearful 
combat fighting side by side with bayonet and sword, 
while heaps of the dead and dying were upon every 
hand. And this was only one, among hundreds of 
battle-fields, where these contending forces met in 
deadly strife during the four years of the Great Re- 
bellion. Oh, do not forget the brave men who died 
that we might live in the country of our love. 

In the autumn of 1863 Richard obtained leave of 
absence and returned home to loved Pembroke. His 
homeward journey was filled with visions of happiness. 
He would again see his dear parents, and the home of 
his heart ; he would visit the child of his love whose 
precious image had gladdened every hour since he left 
her. Oh, sluggish wind and steam and tide, how slow 
you are, how lazily you move along ! Clare was now 
sixteen years old. He would hasten to her and tell 
the story of his love. Arriving home, he hurried 
away to the little wood-colored house in front of which 
thirty months before he had parted with Clare. 
What skeleton of trouble was here ? The windows 
were darkened and a board nailed across the door. 
His heart sank within him. Could fate be so cruel ? 
Not to see her after all ? He turned slowly away 
filled with bitterest disappointment. Where was she ? 
Could no one tell ? Was his fatal impression that he 
had lost her forever coming true ? But no. She shall 
be found. ‘‘ If living I will find her. If her pure 
spirit has flown away it is mine still,” he said, and it 
was the resolve of holy Love. 

Perhaps some one of the neighbors could inform 
him of her whereabouts. He would ascertain. He 
called upon Ellen Gray for this purpose. She could 
only say that in the autumn two years ago Clare had 


110 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


left the neighborhood ; that her father at that time 
enlisted into the army ; that the mother and daughter 
shortly after, or just before he left, moved away, and 
that she had heard they now lived somewhere in the 
vicinity of Boston. “But you seem anxious and 
excited ; why '"do you make these inquiries ? ” she 
asked. 

“ She was one of my pupils.” 

“ And so was I.” 

“ And I am here to see you, and wish to see you 
all. This may be the last time I shall have an oppor- 
tunity. This shooting and being shot at is not alto- 
gether a safe business. Did you say her father had 
joined the army ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“To what regiment does he belong ? ” 

“ That I cannot say. Poor child, it nearly broke 
her heart when her father enlisted.” 

“ 0^, I must see her.'’* 

“ She has grown so beautiful since you left, and is 
such a fine scholar. The following summer after you 
enlisted, she was at the head of the school, but left 
here soon after its close ? ” 

“ It is strange indeed that she left no traces behind 
her. Did she have no intimate friend here, who can 
tell me just where she lives ? ” 

“ None that I know of. They were poor and did 
not form many acquaintances. I presume the school 
children were the only ones who knew her, and they 
are not likely to know where she now is.” 

“ But why did not you know where she went ? 
Could you let such a child escape you so easily ? ” 
“She left suddenly, and neither I or any of the 
neighbors knew she was going until she was gone. 


DRIFTING ALONG. Ill 

But, man, are you crazy ? why should I take it upon 
myself to keep track of this girl ? ” 

He left, and resolved to visit Boston at once in the 
hope of accidentally learning something of Clare. 
This he did, but the search was in vain. He returned 
home sick at heart and sorely disappointed. The 
dread impression was being fulfilled. He felt that 
Clare was lost to him forever, and his life was miser- 
able. Shortly his leave expired, and he returned to 
his regiment disconsolate. 

In the mean time John the brave captain was not 
idle. He also visited his home in the autumn of 1863, 
but soon returned to the army, indulging the hope 
that his Kate still lingered somewhere in old Virginia, 
and that his fortune might bring him to her. In 1864 
the grand campaign of General Grant for the capture 
of Richmond commenced, and John and Richard, now 
colonels, each commanded a regiment in this last 
great movement. They were both engaged in the 
battles of the Wilderness, and John in one of these 
engagements, at the head of his regiment, fell, badly 
wounded in the shoulder, and was taken to a hospital. 
He was confined for weeks, but received the best of 
care, for from the North there came an army of brave 
women and noble men, to nurse and take care of the 
sick and wounded soldiers. During the fourth week 
after receiving the wound, there came to the hospital 
a dozen lady nurses, to relieve the experienced ones 
in charge, to give them an opportunity to push for- 
ward nearer the front to attend the more recent cases. 
As this new squad came through the hospital, walk- 
ing between the rows of cots, and receiving instruc- 
tions and directions from the old nurses, one of them 
suddenly screamed, fainted, and fell to the floor. It 


112 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


was none other than Kate Stanley, and she had dis- 
coYered John, pale and emaciated, lying upon his cot. 
She soon revived, and was much discomfited lest her 
secret had been betrayed before a room full of sol- 
diers and ladies ; but the moment she could speak, she 
whispered to an old nurse and said, “ Please tell John 
Flint that Kate Stanley is here,” and was taken from 
the room. Kate’s message was delivered to John. 
The wounded soldier rose to his feet quickly, despite 
the commands of the nurse that he must remain per- 
fectly quiet. Entreaties were in vain. He seemed 
beside himself with excitement and anxiety. “ Show 
me Kate Stanley,” he said ; “I must see her ! I shall 
see her ! I am strong ! I am well ! Don’t speak of 
my trembling ! Let me look at Kate and I shall be 
calm ! I have been searching for her for years ! Where 
is she ? Why don’t you tell ine ? ” 

And finding persuasion entirely useless the stricken 
soldier, trembling at every joint, looking like a ghost, 
and almost breathless with expectation, was assisted 
to the room of Kate, and thus after more than three 
years of cruel separation were these fond hearts 
brought together again. 

A few days after the departure of Richard and 
John in 1861, Mr. Stanley had been compelled by 
the authorities to leave Virginia with his family, and 
having a house and farm in western New York State, 
went thither to reside. Kate for three long years had 
patiently waited and watched to learn any tidings of 
John. She had with beating heart and flushed face 
read the list of killed and wounded, published in the 
newspapers after every battle ; but this state of sus- 
pense becoming almost insupportable, and hoping if 


DRIFTING ALONG. 


113 


nearer the great conflict she might learn something of 
him she had grown to love so dearly, after much solici- 
tation obtained leave of her father to go to the army 
of the Potomac as a nurse. 

And thus did these two faithful souls meet amidst 
the tumults and turmoils of war’s grand array. 
They were old friends now, and they met as if they 
had loved each other for a lifetime, as John declared 
they had. Never did wounded soldier receive fonder 
care than did John for the next week, and his im- 
provement was remarkable. His wooden hospital 
and humble cot became converted into a paradise, 
and he was attended by an angel. Upon the night 
of the seventh day after Kate’s arrival, the Federal 
lines were pushed back by an overpowering force, 
and the hospital, nurses, stores, and wounded soldiers 
fell into the hands of the enemy. The nurses and 
soldiers unable to walk were at once released, and 
sent to the Federal army ; but John, being so far 
recovered as soon to be able to join his regiment, 
was retained a prisoner with all others in like condi- 
tion. The fright of Kate, and her exposure after 
capture, caused her a fit of sickness, and she was sent 
to her home ; while John was hurried away to Rich- 
mond, and confined in Libby prison. Thus were 
they separated again by relentless war, and the pros- 
pect of again coming together was poor indeed, for 
in the delirium of their joy at meeting, they had not 
taken any measures to enable them to communicate 
with each other in case of separation. In the short 
week that John was with her he had been content, 
without asking particulars, when she told him that 
her father and family had been compelled to leave 
their home in Virginia for the North, and she simply 


114 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


knew that John was a Massachusetts soldier, and 
nothing more. How bitterly did they regret their 
carelessness. How grievously did they lament the 
short-sighted neglect that led them to forget every- 
thing else in the supreme joy of the present moment. 
But so it was, they were again separated, lost to each 
other, and the means of communicating, or of learn- 
ing what fate betided the other, seemed entirely out 
of the question. John remained in prison until the 
spring of 1865, when the war closed. Kate by un- 
wearying perseverance had learned from the army 
rolls that John’s post-office was Boston. But here 
there was an unaccountable mistake, and her letters 
addressed to him at Boston came back to her from 
the dead-letter office, and as for her address or any 
clew to obtain it, John was utterly unable to make 
any progress. 

Richard continued with his regiment after the Wil- 
derness battles until the close of the war, being all 
the time in active service. 

In the spring of 1865, he was wounded in the an- 
kle in the battle of Five Forks. He fell near another 
wounded man who seemed to be past recovery. He 
was groaning and breathing with difficulty, being 
wounded in the chest, and although Richard was 
suffering himself, the distress of this man attracted 
his attention, and he crawled to him on his hands 
and knees, hoping to be able to alleviate his pain. 
Reaching him with much effort, Richard said, “ My 
friend, can I help you? ” 

“ Oh no. I am past all help. I shall breathe but 
a few times more. Oh, my poor wife and daughter ! 
What will become of them ? I could die content if 


DRIFTING ALONG. 


115 


they were^with me. But I am nearly gone ! Don’t 
leave me until all is over. It will be but a few mo- 
ments.” 

“Tell me the name of your wife and daughter, 
and where they live. I will find them and see that 
they are taken care of.” 

“ Thank you, oh, thank you ! Let me take your 
hand. Tell them I died facing the enemy, doing my 
whole duty, and blessing them.” 

He was sinking fast, and breathed with great difii- 
culty. No time could be lost and Richard said, “Tell 
me quickly the name of your wife and daughter.” 

The dying man replied with much effort, “ Mary 
Lincoln and Clare Lincoln, Boston.” 

“ Clare Lincoln ! Clare Lincoln ! Are you her 
father ? ” 

“ Yes, yes. God bless my darling.” 

“ I am Richard Pembroke, her old school-master. 
I love your darling child and she shall not want,” 
and his voice choked and his eyes filled with tears. 

“ Richard Pembroke ! Yes, I remember ! Clare 
talked so much of her teacher. Oh, how thankful I 
.am that you are here. It seems as if my son John 
had come to me. God bless my good little girl and 
her teacher.” 

“ Here is a lock of her hair ; I have carried it with 
me now for four years.” 

The father received the precious treasure into, his 
hand, and looked upon it, oh so tenderly, and then at 
Richard, with eyes full of astonishment yet beaming 
with love, and said, “ Is it so ? I thought my son 
was here, and so he is. I die happy. She told me to 
tell you that ” — 

Before finishing the sentence, before delivering the 


116 


GLARE LINCOLN. 


message Richard so longed to hear, his- voice en- 
tirely failed, and he could speak no more ; but as 
if he would in some manner communicate Clare’s 
words, he gently pressed Richard’s hand, and drew 
it to his lips to kiss, and then shutting his eyes, slept 
the sleep that knows no waking. 


CLARE. 


117 


CHAPTER XL 
CLARE. 

“ Tell her to remember the parting at the gate in 
the years to come.” 

The message to the little girl from the young sol- 
dier, as he hurried away to the wars, had been duly 
delivered by the mother. The real cause of his agi- 
tation when he called to bid Clare good-by, or the 
disappointment which he did not attempt to conceal 
at her absence, the mother did not even suspect, 
but she attributed it to the trial of leaving home and 
friends, and the fear that he might not return. 
Neither did she quite comprehend the message ; was 
it simply what it said, or was there a hidden meaning 
that she did not understand ? She would ask Clare 
upon her return from their old home, whither several 
days previously she had journeyed with her father. 

The day of Richard’s departure for Boston and the 
war was not far spent when Clare and her father re- 
turned, and the curious message was delivered. 

“ Oh, mother, why did you let him go before I re- 
turned ? ” 

“ Dear child, he is a stranger to me and I could 
not insist upon his remaining ; besides he seemed in 
great haste.” 

“ It was kind of him to call. He was always kind 
to me ; I wish I could have thanked him again for it 
all, and wished him a safe return.” 


118 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


He seemed agitated and distressed at leaving 
home. I felt sorry for him indeed. He said you 
promised him some flowers if he would come and see 
you, and thinking he felt so badly about leaving I 
picked a few and gave him.” 

“ I am glad you did, mother. Is not the idea of 
going to war terrible? Do you think there will 
really be a war, and that he will be long from 
home? ” 

“ Oh, my child, I cannot say. The times are full 
of alarms, and no one can foretell the future. What 
does his message mean, dear ? What is to happen 
in the years to come that you should remember it ? ” 

“ I do not know mother. Indeed we cannot foretell 
the future. I think its meaning is that he expects to 
be gone a long time.” 

“ Did he ever say anything to you, my child, of the 
future ? And does this message refer to what he has 
before said ? ” 

“ It does not, and it only means that he wishes me 
to remember him even if I do not see him for years. 
I need no caution to cause me to remember our part- 
ing at the gate.” 

“No dear, but he is a man and you a little girl, 
and the trifling incidents of childhood are soon for- 
gotten.” 

“ He was kind and I cannot forget it, and "besides, 
dear mother, he gave me as I told you this beautiful 
ring, and I gave him a lock of my hair.” 

“ Trifles both. Mere keepsakes dear, and the mes- 
sage means that if he is killed in the war his little 
pupil should not quite forget her teacher. Very likely 
he has given little tokens to all his scholars and 
wishes Clare with the rest not to forget him.” 


CLARE. 


119 


“ She will not, mother.” 

Clare was yet a child only fourteen years old. 
Her feeling towards Hichard was that of gratitude 
for his kindness and attention, respect for his learning 
and maturer years, and admiration for his bravery 
and courage in answering his country’s call for help 
in the hour of danger. She looked upon the ring as 
a child looks upon the gift of a friend, and did not 
dream of the cause that prompted Richard to bestow 
it. In her sweet innocence and modesty she won- 
dered much at the gift, for she could not conceive 
why she had been selected from among so many oth- 
ers as the recipient of such a favor. It never once 
dawned upon her mind that she was beautiful, or that 
her intellect was above mediocrity. She wore the 
ring and became attached to it without comprehend- 
ing just the reason why, and would often look upon 
it and wonder why Richard gave it her. It was not 
true, as her mother had suggested, that he gave pres- 
ents to any of the other scholars. This she learned 
at the ensuing summer school, where, because of the 
ring she wore, the other girls, actuated thereto per- 
haps by the promptings of jealousy, called her Rich- 
ard’s little favorite. Even this did not excite her 
vanity, for she thought those who seemed to be troub- 
led about the ring were much better entitled to have 
received it than herself, so forgetful was she, and so 
unconscious ever of her own charms. Still she won- 
dered and wondered why the gift had been made, and 
made to her of all the others so much more worthy ; 
but these musings always closed with the thought, 
that whatever the motive might have been she was 
glad he gave it her. 

And ‘thus it occurred that her old teacher was not 


120 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


forgotten ; and it imperceptibly became a source of 
peculiar pleasure to her to recall the incidents of her 
short experience at his school. There was an unde- 
fined something about it that made it different to 
her from all other schools she had ever attended, and 
exactly why she had this feeling, if she had been 
asked, she could not have answered. She well re- 
membered the look of triumph and satisfaction her 
teacher gave her when extending his congratulations 
upon her victory at the spelling match, and she re- 
called with gratitude his every attention in school, and 
his assistance and kind words of encouragement in 
her studies. Generally these were the thoughts of a 
poor but grateful child, of him who had been very 
kind to her ; but at times, and especially after she had 
reached the age of sixteen and seventeen years, and 
the thoughts of maturing womanhood were budding 
forth, she would call to mind these scenes and inci- 
dents, and particularly the gift of the ring, his request 
for a lock of her hair, and the message left with her 
mother, and wonder in a vague, undefined manner, if 
it were possible that Richard saw anything in her 
really to admire ; and once when she was seventeen, 
a dream came floating into h^r brain, that perhaps if 
he could see her then and be with her, he might love 
her. The idea frightened her, and she dismissed it 
at once as foolish and absurd, for she was but a poor 
girl with few accomplishments, and he belonged to 
an old and highly respected family. 

Many times she wished she was acquainted with 
his father and mother, but they were entire strangers, 
and there was no one to make her acquainted. She 
knew Richard was in the war, from his interview with 
her mother, but for the years he remained there she 


CLARE. 


121 


never saw or heard of him. She felt pretty sure that 
if any accident befell him she should hear of it by re- 
port in the neighborhood, but this did not always sat- 
isfy her, for sometimes she was seized with a longing 
desire to know if he was earning a good name, and 
she thought if she could see and talk with him as 
she used to do, she would ask him many questions 
concerning the war and his life in the army. Un- 
doubtedly these thoughts came to her for the reason 
that Richard was the only person whom she knew 
who belonged to the army, and the terrors of the con- 
test both real and imaginary of which she dreamed 
naturally clustered around her friend. 

In about two weeks after Richard’s departure the 
summer school commenced, and Clare led a happy, 
hopeful life, attending school and helping her mother. 

Her father had talked much of enlisting during the 
summer. She dreaded the thought of his leaving, on 
her own, and especially on her mother’s account ; but 
she was patriotic far beyond her years, and thought 
it the duty of every one to help the government put 
down the rebellion. She became famous in the neigh- 
borhood for her zeal in the cause of the Union against 
its enemies. She displayed great energy in collecting 
money for banners to be presented to the regiments, 
and when there were meetings of the ladies to do 
sewing for the soldiers or for their families, Clare al- 
ways attended, and engaged heartily in the work. 

Towards autumn of the first year of the war her 
father thought it his duty to volunteer and join the 
army. This conclusion of his brought a load of anx- 
iety to the little household, such as they had never 
experienced before. Anxious and troubled as had 
been their lives, yet there was always this consoling 


\ 


122 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


thought, that it was the highest duty of every one to 
help sustain the government, and Clare and her 
mother were willing to make many sacrifices for the 
good of their country ; but the idea that he whom they 
loved so well, and to whom they fondly clung as does 
the tender creeping vine to the sturdy oak, should 
peril his life or his health for the common good, 
brought with it fearful forebodings, and to Clare was 
a peculiar source of anxiety and trouble, for her dear 
mother was feeble, and the chilling thought would 
come to her that she might be left an orphan alone in 
the world. But Clare and her mother had been ac- 
customed to being much alone, and to constant anx- 
iety because of the dangers to which the father had 
ever been exposed in his daily occupation, and so with 
brave yet with bleeding hearts, they prepared for the 
gloomy day that should separate them from him they 
loved. 

Mr. Lincoln, conceiving that his family would re- 
ceive better care in case any calamity should befall 
him or them in his absence if they lived within the 
city limits of Boston, rented a very small but com- 
fortable house far in the suburbs of the city, and 
thither moved his family before taking his departure 
for the war, having provided them^with all the com- 
forts his limited means would permit. 

At length the dreaded day arrived, and the father 
had parted with his wife and child, leaving them in 
tears, when Clare bethought herself of one thing more 
to say, and ran after him and said : “ Father, if you 
should happen to meet Richard Pembroke, my old 
teacher, in the army, please tell him you are the father 
of Clare Lincoln, the fisherman’s daughter.” 

“ My daughter dear, I never saw Mr. Pembroke 


CLARE. 


123 


to know him, and being entire strangers it is not 
likely we shall meet and become acquainted. The 
army is much larger than you imagine, my darling.” 

“ I know, father, it would be only an accident if 
you found him out ; but if you should, and I have a 
belief that you will, please tell him that little Clare 
Lincoln wears the ring he gave her every day.” 

“ My Clare is but a young girl, and I presume he 
has forgotten you and the ring long before this, but 
I will tell him what you say, if I see him. But your 
papa will not forget you or mamma either, mind 
that.” 

“No, no, and we shall think of you every moment, 
and pray for you. But if you should become ac- 
quainted with my old teacher, you might be of service 
to each other, in case of sickness or accidents.” 

“ I will find him if I can, because you think it best, 
my darling, and now good-by again.” One more kiss, 
and another fond embrace, and^he quickly hurried 
away to conceal the swelling emotions of his heart. 

And now mother and daughter were alone, and for 
the years to come the one moving, controlling, direct- 
ing thought of their lives centered in him who was 
braving the perils of the war for them and the coun- 
try they loved. They did not think of him and then 
permit the thought to pass from their minds, but he 
became the one thought that remained with them al- 
ways, and to which everything else was secondary and 
subordinate. Every day they sent letters to him, and 
his responses, bringing good tidings, were the light 
and sunshine of their anxious hearts. 

The autumn waned and winter came on apace, and 
every storm reminded them of the anxious days when 
they lived by the sea, for now as then, the storm and 


124 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


the cold brought additional perils to the husband and 
the father ; and as they sat by their cheerful fire of a 
blustering winter’s evening they would anxiously 
wonder what quarters the night brought to him and 
whether he was suffering exposure, cold, and hunger. 
During the winter they received a letter, saying he 
hoped to obtain a furlough for a short visit home, and 
the thought of his coming and the preparations for 
him helped to while away many a dreary hour ; but 
the spring came and their hopes were blasted, for 
father and the regiment to which he belonged were 
ordered on a distant campaign. 

By this time societies among the ladies had been 
formed for making clothing and preparing necessaries 
for the indigent families of soldiers, and for making 
bandages, lint, etc., for the hospitals. Clare engaged 
in this work with unbounded energy, and as she plied 
her nimble fingers she ever hoped that her work might 
benefit the only two soldiers she knew, in case of 
need. 

Mr. Lincoln had now been absent one year, and the 
constant unceasing anxiety of his wife had much im- 
paired her health, which for years had been delicate, 
and during the autumn the premonitory cough fore- 
telling the dreaded consumption had made its appear- 
ance. As autumn approached the hope of escape 
faded away, and by the next spring the end was near 
at hand. During all this long and dreary winter, 
Clare, like a ministering angel, had attended to her 
mother’s every want, and provided every comfort. 
She saw the inevitable result ; they both saw it, and 
clung to each other, the one because she could not 
live without her mother, the other because she could 
not die and leave her daughter alone. Kind neigh- 


CLARE. 


125 


bors rendered every assistance to the afflicted family, 
and spent much time there, but sometimes near the 
close of her life Clare was with her mother alone. 
One night when Clare was sitting by her bedside 
and the quiet and silence about the house were oppres- 
sive, her mother, in a wild, unnatural voice said to her : 
“ Clare dear, I hear the roaring of the sea. The wind 
is rising, and I fear a storm is coming on. Let us 
away to the bluffs, with our lights, to guide dear 
father to the shore. There ! There ! Don’t you see 
his boat ? The waves are dashing over it, and he is 
struggling for his life ! There ! He has lost his hold ! 
He is in the sea ! Oh! He is lost I He is lost I ” And 
she sprang out of bed as if to run to rescue her hus- 
band. At these times when her mind was wandering 
Clare alone could soothe and call her to herself again. 

At another time, still later, she opened her eyes in 
which shone a strange light, and said : “ My Clare 
come here quickly. I see John, your darling brother. 
Oh, how glorious he looks ! There he comes ! Don’t 
you see him ! He is sailing in a beautiful boat upon 
the peaceful sea. What a mellow, beautiful light. It 
tints the whole sky. How still it is, and yet he comes 
on the wings of the wind. He is coming for his 
mother and I am going with him. Don’t cry, darling ; 
we will always be near you until you come to us. 
Here he is I Here he is ! Oh my son, my son I ” and 
she reached out her thin trembling arms as if to clasp 
her darling boy to her bosom, and then said : “ My pre- 
cious boy, why did you stay away so long ? Look at 
your little sister. How beautiful she has grown ; we 
will always be near her ; you must not take me far 
from my Clare. No, no, Johnny dear, we must, not 
always leave darling Clare alone.” 


126 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Thus full of visions and bright dreams, as she 
neared her journey’s end, did she behold glimpses and 
shadows of the great hereafter. 

The attending physician warned Clare that these 
flights of the mind indicated the last stages of the dis- 
ease, and that she must prepare for the worst. An 
eminent physician from the city, who chanced to be 
in the vicinity, was called in to satisfy Clare that 
everything possible had been done to save her mother, 
and he too said there was no hope. Poor child ! 
Then every ray of light died within her troubled soul, 
and she sank to the ground senseless, overpowered 
and distracted by the burden of her consuming grief. 
Alone with her dying mother, her father in the war, — 
perhaps dead, she did not know, — and no near friend 
to give her a word of consolation. Oh, bruised and 
bleeding heart, must it live to endure such agony? 
Must it survive the object of its holy affection, for 
whom and with whom it had spent all the young 
years of its life ? Must it continue to beat on alone, 
and in utter darkness ? 

The following morning as Clare sat by the bedside, 
her mother aroused and said ; “ Darling, darling, I see 
a new light ! It is bright and beautiful and shines with 
many colors. It looks like the beacon with which my 
Clare used to guide her father to his home from the 
dangers of the deep, and this, darling, is the beautiful 
beacon by which our Heavenly Father guides me, his 
lost child, to the land of the blest. Do not cry, dear ; 
I have seen the other shore. Tell your dear father 
that I am happy. It is a lovely country. Oh, so 
beautiful. Let me go ! Let me go ! ” 

And thus the day waned away, until a glorious 
sunset came tinting the earth with beauty, when the 


CLARE. 


127 


dying mother whispered to her daughter in broken 
accents, “ Darling, please sing ‘ Rock of Ages cleft 
for me ; ’ ” and Clare holding her mother’s hand, and 
calming her beating, bleeding heart, with a mighty 
effort sang with a tremulous, yet sweet and beauti- 
ful voice, the sacred hymn, comfort and consoler to 
those in life, in danger, or in death ; and ere she had 
finished, the freed soul of her mother had taken its 
flight to the beautiful land she had dimly seen. 


128 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


CHAPTER XIL 
NEW SCENES. 

In the region of Jamaica Plain, and at a conven- 
ient distance from the city, there is situated a beau- 
tiful villa or country-seat that comprises more than 
ten acres of ground. The inclosure is filled with 
trees of the rarest foliage, charming shrubs, and 
sparkling flowers, whose delightful perfumes burden 
the air with delicious sweetness, and the whole is laid 
out with winding walks and drives, lined with choice 
plants and evergreens, shaded by the overhanging 
trees, and here and there are rustic seats, groups of 
statuary, and iron vases painted green, white, and 
brown, in which are budding and blooming rare 
tropical plants and flowers fi*om every clime. 

Bountiful nature and cunning art, twin sisters in 
the world of beauty, had worked together as with 
loving hearts to make this one of the most charming 
places upon earth, and it looks like a happy suburban 
abode in the city of Paradise, or like one of the por- 
tals to enter there. 

In the southwest corner of the inclosure there is 
a small lake, the banks of which are beautified with 
all the adornments of taste and wealth, where the 
lily buds and blooms in luxury, whose pure waters 
glisten in the sunshine like an enchanted field of sil- 
ver, and where the shy fish of numerous varieties 
sport and play in perfect security. Extending around 


NEW SCENES. 


129 


the lake in a circular form is a gray granite walk, 
shaded with elm and maple trees, whose branches 
clasp and form an archway of beauty, and upon the 
southern shore is a structure of red granite over- 
grown with moss and ivy, representing an old castle 
in ruins. Leading to the ramparts of the ruin are 
rude stone steps, ascending which, and climbing a 
winding stair-way of the same material, and arriv- 
ing at the highest elevation, there is a lookout from 
whence a charming view is presented to the eye. 
Upon the northern shore is a summer bathing-house, 
and a miniature harbor in which floats a small ship 
in full sailing order. The water is kept ever pure 
and fresh by a spring that pours into and forms the 
lake at the upper end thereof. 

In the centre of the grounds and upon a terraced 
elevation, with marble steps leading to it, stands the 
dwelling-house of brown stone. It is a large, majes- 
tic structure, surrounded with verandas and porticoes, 
with a cupola in the centre, and a commanding tower 
from the corner of the roof, from whose observatory 
can be seen the city. Bunker Hill Monument, the State 
House, the Blue Hills, and all the surrounding coun- 
try, presenting a grand view to the delighted eye. 

This place is called “ Evergreen Horae,” and is 
the abode of wealth, luxury, culture, and refine- 
ment. 

Entering the inclosure and proceeding along the 
shaded, flagged walks, could be seen at a little dis- 
tance a fountain, in the centre of which stood a 
statue representing Neptune, from whose uplifted 
hands the water sprang like a thing of life and fell 
into the reservoir beneath, where the gold fish sported, 
in a perpetual shower. By the side of the fountain, 
9 


130 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


in a shady little nook, watching the sparkling waters, 
and seemingly in deep meditation, sat a distinguished 
looking man. His hair was white and his face clean 
shaven. His massive brow, his black, speaking eyes, 
the clear cut Grecian nose, indeed his whole face and 
countenance bespeak the superior man, the man of 
genius, culture, and learning. He had grown gray 
in the service of his kind. He had spent a lifetime 
in doing good. There he sat, crowned with wisdom 
and years, an epitome of the world’s experience, ripe 
in culture, mature in learning, likeness and portrait 
of virtue and charity, the personification of generos- 
ity and benevolence, at the head and front of his pro- 
fession, — the retired physician. He was loved and 
revered by the poor and the helpless, for his was a 
bountiful hand ; he was respected and esteemed by 
the rich because of his many virtues, and in the cir- 
cle of his profession his word was law. 

At a little distance from the physician, in the even- 
ing shade of a horse-chesnut tree, sat a girl seventeen 
years old, with a beautiful face, upon which rested a 
saddened, thoughtful expression. She held in her 
hand a book, but was not reading it, for her eyes 
wandered away as if looking into futurity. 

The old physician discovering her called and said, 
“ Come hither, my child,” and quickly she stood be- 
fore him. “ You have not sung to me to-day, and I 
miss the cheerful influence of your sweet songs.” 

“ Doctor, I will sing for you at any time you wish 
it, or do anything I am capable of to promote your 
enjoyment.” 

“ You are so willing my child, and always so good, 
that I ought to be careful in making any demands 
upon you.” 


NEW SCENES. 131 

“ Anything to give you pleasure is the ambition of 
my life and my highest enjoyment.” 

“Dear child, how much you are ever reminding me 
of her who is gone. But now for the song. Please 
to sing the one in which this occurs, ‘ Man may come 
and man may go, but I go on forever.’ ” 

“ That is ‘ The Brook,’ and it has a very pretty ac- 
companiment on the piano. Shall I not play it when 
I sing ? ” 

“ I suppose the accompaniment represents the run- 
ning water, and here is the fountain playing beauti- 
fully. Let the fountain represent the part of the 
piano and accompany you in the song.” 

“ That is a pretty thought and I will try it. If 
there is a discord I shall be to blame.” 

Then in a clear and musical voice, remarkable for 
its expression and sweetness, she sang “ The Brook,” 
the fountain accompanying her, and at its conclusion 
the old gentleman exclaimed, — 

“It is charming ; I wonder I never thought of this 
before. I think my other favorite would sound equally 
well with the same accompaniment.” 

“ ‘ Home of my Heart,’ — yes, perhaps : I will see.” 

Again her charming voice rang out clear and beau- 
tiful upon the evening air, and as the last notes were 
still trembling among the trees the Doctor said : “ How 
I love that songj my Laura sang it to me only five 
days before she fled away to the home of all humanity. 
But I did not lose her though she died. I found her 
again, and again I hear her voice as of old. Oh ! my 
child, my child ! Can I ever thank you for this hap- 
piness ? Can I ever repay you for restoring to me 
the loved and the lost ? ” • 

“If you found your child I found a father, and 
your happiness only augments my own.” 


132 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ But my daughter seems sad this evening, and 
your voice as you sang was tinged with melancholy, 
which to my ear rendered the songs surpassingly 
sweet ; but you must not permit the grief of your 
heart to darken your life. I am an old man, and have 
seen much sorrow and suffering in my own family and 
among others, and my reflections have led me to be- 
lieve that these trials are the means whereby a kind 
Providence purifies our minds and ennobles our 
hearts.” 

“ But may not the heart be consumed in the fire of 
affliction? It sometimes seems to me that to die 
would bring peace and forgetfulness.” And now the 
heaving of her breast gave proof of the anguish she 
was suffering. 

“No, my dear girl. God tempers the wind to the 
shorn lamb, and does not wantonly cause His creat- 
ures to suffer. Trust in Him and He will keep you.” 

“I do try and I will. I try to feel resigned and 
happy. I try to look upon the bright side of the 
future, but sometimes my soul is filled with doubts 
and fears as to the great hereafter.” 

“ The doubts and fears of an inquiring mind are 
the pleadings of a voice that never dies. You long 
for immortality, and in that longing is seen the glori- 
ous promise of what you desire, for in the wonderful 
economy of nature every want is supplied and every 
longing satisfied. The seed of corn we plant in the 
ground feels the influence of the powers and forces 
about it. It requires moisture and receives it ; it 
demands nourishment and is supplied ; and soon it 
sprouts and germinates, and in the proper period.there 
ifppears the ripened fruit, after its kind — the full 
corn in the ear ; and so with the human mind — the 


NEW SCENES. 


133 


soul. It is a germ, a seed, but few of its demands 
and wants are supplied here, and it requires a great 
hereafter to satisfy its longings, to ripen the fruit, to 
perfect the full corn in the ear ; and may we not rea- 
sonably hope and expect that nature has not planted 
this seed, this supreme longing and desire, for the 
purpose of dark disappointment ; and may we not 
believe it will not leave its work unfinished and in- 
complete, but that with the soul, as with everything 
else, it lives and struggles on towards perfection, 
until it is fully ripe and fully matured ? And here is 
the promise of immortality, for the soul’s capacities 
are endless, and it will mature forever. Everything 
ripens and comes to perfection except man ; but with 
him the most exalted intellect, the most godlike 
mind, in this short life scarcely enters the primary 
department of knowledge. He passes away leaving 
his work incomplete. He dies in the bud ; he 
withers in the green leaf ; and by every analogy of 
nature this imperfectly developed seed, this budding 
and germinating intellect, mind, soul, by whatever 
name it is called, must find a period for growth, a 
period for maturing, until the ripened fruit appears, 
and every want is fully and completely satisfied, — 
until there is a perfect development, and that period 
is unending eternity. Then again supreme and exact 
justice demands immortality to cure the injustice and 
the wrongs of this life. Here the best men often suf- 
fer most, and sometimes the wicked are most prosper- 
ous. Justice demands a future life to satisfy the 
balance and make all things even.” 

Thus spoke the learned man while the girl sat 
thoughtfully by his side. At length she said : “ Your 
words comfort me. I will believe and be happy. 


134 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


But how sacred do you make life. Indeed it is di- 
vine.” 

“Yes, my child, it is the precious gift of a God of 
Love, and we are journeying along the pathway that 
reaches an eternity of happiness.” 

“But many fall by the way-side and are lost ? ” 

“No, not lost forever. They are retarded in their 
progress while paying the penalty of their sins. But 
come, my Clare, the evening air is growing damp, 
and the lengthened shadows have disappeared. Let 
us go into the house and have some lively music on 
the piano,” and away she ran with nimble feet, happy 
enough to please hev benefactor and protector. 

Yes it was Clare Lincoln, and it is time to under- 
stand how it was that she came to be living at this 
beautiful home. The physician from the city who 
was, by accident, called in to see Clare’s mother the 
day before she died, was Doctor Hume, whom we 
have described, and at whose home Clare was now re- 
siding. The Doctor, at the first sight of her at the 
bedside of her sick mother, was wonderfully im- 
pressed with her looks and manner. His first glance 
at her caused him to start as if an apparition had 
passed before his mind. It recalled to the living 
reality a face and form more dear to him than life, 
that he had seen only in visions and dreams for long 
and dreary years. If there had been any tincture of 
superstition in his nature, he certainly would have 
thought the ghost of his departed daughter stood be- 
fore him, so strongly did Clare resemble his lost child. 
He loved her at once as he had loved his daughter, 
and he then formed the idea of inviting her to come 
and live with him when the inevitable event then im- 
pending had transpired. He was full of enthusiasm 


NEW SCENES. 


135 


over Ills project, and said to his sister upon his return 
that he was going to bring his lost Laura to his home. 
He carried his resolution into effect, and in a few 
days after her mother’s funeral called to see Clare, 
•whom he found stopping in a neighbor’s family in a 
very poor and indigent condition. He informed her 
of his desire, that she should go with him and live at 
his home, and that his whole family consisted of him- 
self and a younger sister about fifty years of age, he 
having lost his wife and only child years before. 
Clare was without a home ; her father in the army, 
she had no relatives to whom she could look in her 
distress, and thinking the Doctor desired her to help 
do the work in his family, and knowing that she must 
depend upon her own labor for her support, readily 
assented to his proposal, and went with him to 
“ Evergreen Home.” 

She was surprised beyond expression upon arriving 
there at the beauty and wealth of the place, and her 
surprise was still increased when she found the house 
already supplied with many servants beside a house- 
keeper. The Doctor’s sister, who had heartily joined 
him in his proposal of bringing Clare to the family, 
was made ready to receive her, and was happily im- 
pressed with her looks and appearance. A young girl 
in the house would bring life and sunshine, and, she 
thought, much more than repay the trouble and ex- 
pense. Clare, still supposing she was going to service 
in the family, shortly after her arrival modestly asked 
to be set at work, but was full of apprehensions lest 
she should not know how to labor well in so elegant 
an establishment. This request for employment caused 
the Doctor and his sister to smile, the Doctor really 
laughing outright. Clare was confused and blushed, 


136 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


her chest heaved with emotion, and she thought in 
some unconscious manner she had committed an un- 
pardonable blunder. The sister, kind and sympa- 
thetic, seeing her embarrassment, made haste to say : 
“ My dear girl, the Doctor did not bring you here to* 
work, and if he told you so, it was only to get you to 
consent to come with him. We want you here as a 
friend, to be one of the family.” 

“Yes, yes,” said the Doctor, “ we want you here 
as our child, our Laura, our daughter ; and instead of 
working, every servant in the house shall work for 
you and attend to your every want.” 

Clare was amazed. She could not comprehend or 
at all understand what this all meant, and she thought 
herself in a dream. In her agitation and excitement 
she could not speak, but the friendly tears finally 
came to her relief, and the sister went with her to her 
room. The next morning as she came from her 
chamber, in passing the library door, she saw the 
Doctor sitting in his easy-chair reading the morning 
papers, and she hastily ran into the room and said : 
“ Doctor Hume, you will have been astonished at my 
conduct last evening : do not blame me for not even 
thanking you for your kindness to me ; I was so 
agitated and my head so whirled with a thousand 
thoughts that I could not utter a single word.” 

“ I blame you ? Never, never shall I do that. 
Could I blame my Laura ? Neither could I blame 
her who comes to my home to take her place. You 
were astonished : I intended to surprise you. But I 
hope a night’s rest has refreshed and calmed you, and 
what do you now think about making your home 
with us ? ” 

“ Doctor Hume I am an entire stranger to you, and 


NEW SCENES. 


137 


I can never repay you for your kindness to me, but 
before you take me as your child, you ought to know 
something more of my character.” 

“Did I not see you at the death-bed of your 
mother? Did I not see my own darling daughter 
standing there in the person of yourself, so kind, so 
thoughtful, so true? We are not strangers ; you are 
my loved and lost child returned to me after long 
years of separation. Do not hesitate,’! could not give 
you up.” 

Again was Clare agitated and the tears streamed 
down her crimson cheek, but placing her hand in 
that of the Doctor’s she calmed herself and said : 
“Doctor Hume, I will be your child, and love you as 
a father until my own dear father returns from the 
war.” 

And the doctor drew her to his knee and said : “ I 
once had a daughter like you. She died at the age 
of sixteen, more than ten years ago. She was all I 
had in the wide world to love, for her mother died at 
her birth. You remind me of her in your every look 
and action. Her name was Laura, and you shall be 
my Laura now — my child, my child ! ” 

It was not until three or four days had passed that 
Clare became calm enough to relate to the Doctor 
and his sister the story of her life. After doing this, 
she said : “ Now you know I am but a poor fisher- 
man’s daughter; I could not feel at ease until I had 
informed you who I am and everything connected 
with my past history ; and having now performed this 
duty, and after knowing all, do you still wish me for 
your friend, your child ? ” 

Before answering the question the Doctor left the 
room for a moment, and returning, brought from its 


138 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


sacred resting-place a beautiful watch, chain, and 
necklace, his gift to Laura upon her sixteenth birth- 
day, himself now pale and trembling, and with an 
agitated voice said : “ These belonged to my beloved 
daughter, and I value them more highly than any- 
thing else. Come here, my child, and sit upon my 
knee. It was thus that Laura sat when I placed this 
necklace upon her neck. Oh how the memories of 
that day come thronging before me. Look sister, is 
she not a picture of our lost darling ? It was thus 
that I fastened the necklace about her neck as I do 
now about yours, and thus did I place the watch and 
chain ; and to show you the position you are to occupy 
here and the feeling we entertain for you, I now give 
you these precious jewels and wish you to wear them, 
and to dress as did our Laura, so that in you we can 
be ever reminded of her who is gone ! ” 

As the Doctor ceased speaking Clare embraced him 
in tears, and said : “I am your child, and I will be 
ever true to you and to my sister Laura. Command 
my life and my thoughts. They are all for you.” 

And thus did Clare enter “ Evergreen Home.” It 
opened a new world to her, bright and beautiful. The 
house to her was a gorgeous palace, and its furniture 
and adornments in every part suitable for a prince : 
the parlors decked and embellished with all the 
treasures wealth could bestow ; the rare and beautiful 
pictures and paintings by the old masters ; the library 
loaded with the choicest books ; the grounds with their 
shaded walks, bowers, statuary, and fountains, — all, 
all were new to the poor fisherman’s daughter, and she 
dreamed that she had been led by the hand of a fairy 
to the land of Paradise. It was difficult for her to 
preserve her identity or to know herself ; and when 


NEW SCENES. 


139 


she looked backward to her humble home by the sea, 
and then at her present surroundings, she could hardly 
believe herself little Clare Lincoln. 

She commenced living with the Doctor in the 
spring of 1863, immediately after her mother’s death ; 
and at the time of the song by the fountain she had 
been there about fourteen months, and it was the sum- 
mer of 1864. She had spent the year in study, hav- 
ing been provided with the best of teachers at her 
home, both in music and other branches, and her re- 
markable progress had been exceedingly gratifying 
to the Doctor and his sister. 

It will be well to take a view of the every-day life 
at “ Evergreen Home,” and to become acquainted with 
the characters there. Miss Sibyl Dawson was the 
housekeeper, and one of the very best was she. She 
seemed to have been born to make war upon dirt and 
dust, at least she regarded these harmless, inoffensive 
things as her bitterest enemies, and was ever plan- 
ning campaigns against and hunting out the ambus- 
cades of these her deadly foes. She thought all the 
household in league with the enemy, and that they 
had entered into an alliance offensive and defensive, 
and she made war not only upon the chief offenders 
but their allies. A very good woman for the house 
and furniture, but a very uncomfortable one for the 
household. Her eyes seemed to be magnifying glasses, 
and would expand a particle of dust into a mountain 
of filth and corruption, and her mind seemed also to 
have caught the same disease, and little things were 
magnified into the most dire calamities. She was 
happiest when the most miserable, the most contented 
when predicting evil. 

She was very lean in flesh, and had a sharp, bony 


140 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


face, long neck, and pointed nose, thin, compressed 
lips, always a little drawn in as if afraid something 
would escape and be lost, and, very strange to say, 
there was more than a shade of black hair upon the 
upper one, which probably came to keep company 
with the mole on her cheek. 

She had been long in the family, and in a manner 
came to think she owned it, at least that it would go 
to ruin at once but for her care, prudence, and skill 
in managing its affairs. She always carried a bunch 
of keys on her arm, and assumed to direct everything 
inside the house. She was penurious, and a genuine 
money-maker, and while she had considerable money 
herself, and knew the Doctor was very wealthy, yet 
she was continually fearful that the family and her- 
self would come to want. Every spring she pre- 
dicted a famine, every winter starvation, and every 
pleasant week in the summer a drouth that would 
bring destruction and desolation, and these evil pre- 
dictions seemed to be her only comfort and consola- 
tion. She was one of those who took a dark view of 
things in general and enjoyed it, and made herself 
unhappy because she could not convert those who 
looked upon the bright side of life to her dismal be- 
lief. She was perfectly healthy and strong, and had 
an iron constitution, but was ever complaining of 
sickness ; and it seemed to be her pride and joy to 
declare that she had been afflicted with every disease 
known, and in a much more severe form than they 
usually assumed, and it was the delight of her life to 
make known the terrible sufferings she imagined %he 
had endured to every one she happened to meet. 

If any one complained of sickness in her pres- 
ence, or was dangerously ill, she would exclaim, “ Oh 


NEW SCENES. 


141 


me ! That is nothing to what I have suffered. It 
does not begin to be as severe as was my case.’’ No 
one could tell her anything about sickness for she 
knew it all by experience, while in truth and fact she 
was always remarkably well and always at work. 
She was an invaluable servant, and the Doctor thought 
much of her for her economy and prudence, and Clare 
saw in her, notwithstanding her unattractive exterior, 
a kind and sympathetic heart. 

There were other servants, and among them Markus 
Bright, a dull, stupid, yet reasonably honest fellow, 
who superintended the grounds ; John Jackson, a ne- 
gro, the gardener ; Uncle George Thomson, colored, 
who had lately arrived from Virginia, coachman, and 
who combined the character of philosopher with that 
of Money Broker, or as he would say, “ I am proud to 
be dubbed with the epitaph M. B. — Money Broker — 
‘ Evergreen Home ; ’ ” Cicero Jenkins, also colored, a 
proud, wide stepping fellow, who always wore a very 
white shirt, a very red neck-tie, a very large brass ring, 
and when out of doors a very black, shining silk hat, a 
very white pair of cotton gloves to protect his very 
black hands from the sun, and supported his dignity 
with a very slight ivory-handled cane, which he used 
to assist in walking by hanging on his left arm. He 
worked in the house, and was next in rank to Miss 
Sibyl. He called himself the “ pollyticun of the plan- 
tacun,” and judging from his general want of knowl- 
edge and infirm integrity we should think him justly 
entitled to such designation. He maintained with an 
air of condescension and magnanimity that the whites 
should be entitled to the same privileges, including 
the “ ’Lection Franchis,” as the blacks, provided they 
behaved themselves. Susan, Sally, and Desdemona, 


142 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


colored, house servants, and Samuel Davidson, host- 
ler, completed the inmates of the servants’ hall. 

While Clare’s arrival at “ Evergreen Home ” im- 
pressed Miss Sibyl as an act of supreme folly on the 
part of the Doctor, on account of the additional ex- 
pense to the family, to the other servants it was an 
event they hailed with delight, and soon the sweet 
young girl had taken full possession of their hearts. 

And thus as Clare had been the beacon light of the 
old home by the sea, so in this palace of luxury and 
refinement did she become its life and its joy, filling 
it with sunshine, peace, and happiness. 


A STRANGER, 


143 


CHAPTER XIIL 

A STRANGER. 

William Stacy entered the office of Judge Kent, 
in the spring of 1863, to study law. He was a native 
of the city, twenty-three years of age, and pf respect- 
able parentage. His father and mother had died 
three years previously, and after the settlement of the 
estate he had received about one thousand dollars as 
their heir. He had a bright, active mind, and his 
manners were remarkably easy and pleasing. More 
than usually good-looking, his face and head superior 
to the ordinary mould, his black hair and intelligent 
dark eyes, his fine address and polished conversation, 
his quick and ready wit, and his graceful, elegant 
movements, all taken together, rendered him well 
calculated to attract and to please. And pleasing he 
was to superficial observation. But upon closer 
study and further acquaintance he inspired the feeling 
that his outward appearance was but a mask to cover 
up the real man, — but a disguise to conceal some- 
thing not so pleasing behind it. To the skilled reader 
of human character there seemed to be a shadow of 
evil lurking behind his softest words and his most 
gracious smile, — a sinister, concealed design, hidden 
in the very lap of his charming elegance and ease. 
Those deep penetrating eyes were not always winning 
and attractive, but were looking for something far 
beyond, and the quick ears were not always satisfied 


144 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


with the pleasing sounds of the present, but listened 
for something in the distance. He could talk and 
attract and please, yea captivate by his brilliancy, 
while yet his inner and deeper thoughts were far 
away, planning, plotting, and scheming for his own 
selfish purposes, and to accomplish his own ambitious 
designs. The reception of the small inheritance from 
his father awakened in him a thousand evil passions, 
which perchance might have slept forever but for this 
circumstance, and caused an entire revolution in his 
ideas of life and its duties. The sight of this pittance 
of money had engendered in him an uncontrollable 
desire for more, and had set at work the evil genius 
of the man to acquire it. He became supremely 
greedy, and, as a natural consequence, unscrupulous. 
And to what end ? For what purpose ? Not for the 
sake of hoarding and amassing wealth ? No, this was 
simply the means to the goal of his ambition. It 
would open the road to the satisfaction of his inordi- 
nate pride. He was seized with a desire, which tow- 
ered high above all others, and to which he would 
make everything else secondary and subordinate, to 
be looked upon as a leader in society, and to move in 
what he termed the upper circles in the social fabric, 
and he became utterly indifferent as to the means to 
be resorted to for the accomplishment of this purpose. 
He was sharp and quick to discover the causes that 
produced any given result ; and in looking for the 
secret power that elevated men in the estimation of 
the multitude, he soon discovered that money was the 
agency that gave to them reputation and position.* 
He soon learned, for it is a lesson that does not re- 
quire profound or long-continued study, that he could 
buy influence, position, character, and reputation for 


A STBANGEB. 


145 


gold. He soon found that these things were mere 
merchandise, to be bartered for and received, sold and 
delivered in the market place for money. He looked 
out upon society and saw that wealth could purchase 
dignity, power, place, social standing, and that grat- 
itude, love, sympathy, and affection were for sale. 
He looked again, and saw that money was respected 
although accompanied with glaring ignorance or 
moral depravity, while exalted learning and shining 
worth were despised if joined with poverty. He saw 
that the rich were courted and sought after, and that 
wealth was the one thing needful to bring followers ; 
that the weight of a man’s purse, and not the weight 
of his brain, assigned him a place in society ; that 
reputation and respectability were matters of the 
pocket and not of the mind ; that wealth was power 
while knowledge was weakness, and that money 
brought dignity while poverty was disgrace. And 
following up this idea, and to take advantage of this 
state of things, the acquisition of wealth became the 
leading passion of his life, for in it he saw the only 
means to satiate and to satisfy his pride. He would 
become a leader in society, a very prince and king in 
the fashionable world ; he would have a throng of 
fawning followers ; a host of shallow-headed hangers 
on, who would barter their souls for his smile or his 
nod ; a whole army of parasites and sycophants 
should proclaim him a great man ; and he saw that 
wealth would bring all this to pass, and so the road 
to wealth was the grand highway to power, position, 
and enviable distinction. 

But how should this talis manic weapon be ac- 
quired ? How should this king, this ruler of men, be 
obtained ? It did not matter how, if the event was 
10 


146 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


an accomplislied fact. No matter if from the hoarded 
gold there was dripping the blood of the laborer, and 
the tears of the widow and orphan ; no matter if 
blasted hopes and desolated homes had contributed to 
its accumulation. No matter. The world would not 
inquire. The silence of the grave would close over 
the means if the end was accomplished. Society 
would be deaf, dumb, and blind to everything but the 
jeweled man, and would not even ask if he were a 
robber. It would drink his wine, partake of his feasts, 
feel honored to pet his dog, scramble to touch the hem 
of his garments, flatter, cringe, and crawl, and strive 
to become his lackeys, and ask no questions how this 
renowned leader became invested with his power. 

This being the deplorable condition of things, it 
did not matter how the money was acquired. High- 
toned robbery answered the same purpose as honest 
toil, and was a much quicker process, and to the im- 
patient, ambitious, and unscrupulous must have the 
preference. Stacy, looking at the means whereby 
money is quickly and easily obtained, thought a smat- 
tering of the law, accompanied with a large amount 
of self-esteem, brass, and impudence, with a total dis- 
regard for honesty and integrity, furnished a field for 
grand maneuvers and operations. He therefore en- 
tered the profession with the sole purpose of making 
it the instrument of fraud and corruption. He would 
make it the highway to fortune, and thereby to in- 
fluence and position, not by honest, laborious, and 
persevering effort and endeavor, but by daring, un- 
scrupulous adventures and speculations. Of the 
sublime beauty of the profession he had no concep- 
tion, for his whole soul was swallowed up and drowned 
in the pernicious idea that wealth alone could bring 


A STRANGER. 


147 


all that life demanded and craved, and for the acqui- 
sition of wealth he would subordinate everything, — 
honesty, truth, love, faith, affection; this should be. 
his god, his mentor, and around its glittering altar he 
would worship. He did not' know that the happiest 
men are sometimes the poorest ; he did not dream 
that the heart would starve upon wealth alone ; he 
had not learned that a satisfied conscience, an upright 
mind, and a pure, self-sacrificing life, are treasures that 
gold cannot bestow or withhold ; and when he saw 
society following after, obsequiously bowing to and 
fawning around the almighty dollar, he would say ; 
“ There goes a man dressed in purple and fine linen 
in his chariot of wealth, with a purse full of gold, 
but withal an ignoramus^ nearly a fool, without cult- 
ure, polish, or refinement, and yet the world follows 
after him, apes him, and clamors to kiss the hand of 
this ignorant clod-hopper, no matter if it is covered 
over with the filth of depravity and moral corruption. 
It cannot, therefore, be the ability, the intellect, or the 
moral character of this man that society worships, but 
it is evidently his money ; and so money is power, 
money is greatness, money will make me a leader, no 
matter if I get it by robbery or any other crime, 
and money I will 

From whence came these darkened, distorted, fatal 
views of life, character, and duty ? Did he acquire 
them legitimately from a faithful study of the foun- 
dation upon which society rests ? Is it possible that 
we are so fallen, so barbarous and uncivilized that his 
deductions were and are absolute unvarnished truth ? 
Think of it, and look out upon the social fabric and 
behold the lessons it teaches. 

Entering upon the great battle of life thus armed 


148 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


and equipped, with this controlling thought for its 
great purpose and object, other ideas of like character 
must necessarily follow. He must become insincere 
and supremely selfish ; he must learn the wily ways 
of the accomplished hypocrite, so that to the religious 
and soberly inclined he could become the very pat- 
tern of piety and devoutness ; to the unbelieving and 
the scoffer, the champion of skepticism ; to the doubt- 
ing, inquiring mind, a searcher after knowledge, while 
to the gay and thoughtless he must be the prince of 
jollity and mirth. He must be adroit and cunning ; 
his life must be false and counterfeit in every particu- 
lar ; he must conceal his loathsome self in an outside 
shell of fair appearance ; he must work slyly and in 
the dark, covering his tracks, and while he makes 
boastful pretensions of doing one a favor, rob him. 
He must be a humbug and a cheat, false to himself 
and to every one else ; and if now and then he is 
forced to do a virtuous act, boast of it in public and 
in private ; and while he pretends to be the champion 
of the poor and the oppressed, at the same time to 
secretly work for their destruction, and to make their 
ruin redound to his own advantage. 

With these thoughts of society and of life, this 
young man entered the law office of Judge Kent. To 
study law ? No, but to learn how to become an ac- 
complished thief, robber, and villain. He thought 
politics opened a field for unlimited plunder, and 
this tempting sphere he resolved to enter at the ear- 
liest possible moment. He had learned that profes- 
sional politicians were unscrupulous in the means 
employed to obtain office ; that they were willing to 
sacrifice all their self-respect and all their honor, by 
going about the country begging for office, and by 


A STBANGBB. 


149 


heralding their own qualifications ; and he found that 
the sharp, smooth, oily fellows obtained the offices 
when they had no qualifications or fitness for the 
same, while the men of ability and self-respect, who 
would not resort to trickery and corruption, were left 
at home ; and he had noticed that, however paltry the 
office, the officer sometimes came out of it rich, and 
therefore most highly respected and honored, and to 
the tempting whirlpool of politics he would therefore 
make his way without any delay. 

All these thoughts were concealed in his innermost 
brain, while the exterior was all politeness, suavity, 
and affability. He was a fine musician, and he 
prized the gift, not for itself, but because he could use 
it in making his way where otherwise he could not go. 
He would use this power to carry him into society, 
and he did. He was a singer practiced and expert, 
and by this means he had extended his acquaintance, 
and at a musical, entertainment at the house of a 
mutual friend in the spring of 1864, he accidentally 
met Clare Lincoln. Their first meeting was cold 
and formal, but both being fine musicians, they soon 
became acquainted. Stacy thought her a beautiful 
girl, and a gifted singer, and that was all. They 
met in this manner several times, at the house of this 
friend, and at length Clare invited him to sing with 
her at her home. This he did, and upon entering 
“ Evergreen Home,” he was surprised and astonished 
to find the home of Clare so rich and beautiful, hav- 
ing about it so many evidences of wealth and culture, 
and he at once took measures to ascertain Clare’s re- 
lation to this magnificent property. He continued 
his visits. He saw no children about the place and 
he never heard the inmates speak of any absent ones. 


150 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


He inquired of the mutual friend, and learned that 
Doctor Hume lost his wife and only child Laura 
years ago, and that he had found Clare poor and 
without friends, and had taken her to his home. 
Farther than this she did not know, but she did 
know that the Doctor seemed to think very much of 
the girl, and she had half a notion from what she 
could see and learn that he intended to make her 
his heir. And, said she, She is a lucky girl, if he 
does, for the Doctor is very wealthy. He has a huge 
fortune, and it would be just like one of his sin- 
gular notions to pick up a girl in the streets, without 
any name, home, or friends, and make her his heir.” 

From this moment Stacy became intensely inter- 
ested in Clare', and he thought to himself, “ I am 
glad she was a homeless girl. I am glad she was 
found in the streets without parents or friends. She 
will have no aristocratic notions to overcome, and no 
powerful friends to influence her.” 

A new idea flashed into his mind. It took abso- 
lute possession of his soul. It gave him no rest and 
no peace ; he could think of nothing else, and on his 
way to his office flushed and excited he thus solilo- 
quized : “ Here is a new enterprise that I had not 
before dreamed of. Doctor Hume is immensely rich, 
and I believe has no children. Else why should he 
take this girl to his home. What will he probably 
do with his property ? Undoubtedly he picked up 
this girl and took her to his home because he was 
struck with her beauty and her winning ways, and if 
she behaves herself he will without doubt make her 
his heiress, and I prophesy that the man who gets 
her will get a bag of money. I must have a wife 
sometime, I suppose, — provided always that I can 


A STBANGBB. 


151 


make it pay ; and why not catch this girl and her 
fortune, and thereby save the trouble and worry of 
any further struggle ? The idea is a good one, but in 
these matters one must go slow. I must first become 
satisfied that this girl is sure of the fortune, for it 
would be a horrible blunder to get this poor, homeless, 
friendless girl and fail to secure the fortune, and to 
this end I will watch and see how the old gentleman 
regards her, and will draw out her opinion of him.” 

Panting with greed, impatient and eager, he closed 
by saying : “ William Stacy, here is a royal prize 
worthy the cunning efforts of the most wary diplo- 
mat, and you are a fool, a bungling idiot, if you do 
not win it.” 

With this view in his burning head he cultivated 
her acquaintance, and when in her company was the 
personification of sincerity, simplicity, and honor. 
He informed her that he loved music,, because it 
tended to inspire him with noble thoughts and ex- 
alted ideas of life. He ascertained that the Doctor 
seemed to worship Clare, and that she was no less 
devoted to him. He learned from her the story of 
her life, and how she came to “ Evergreen Home,” 
and then he said : “ The Doctor seems to think as 
much of you as he possibly could of his own child. 
I am happy that you have found so pleasant a 
home.” 

Then Clare innocently replied : “ The Doctor, dear 
old man, says I look like his daughter Laura, whom 
he lost years ago, and this undoubtedly is the reason 
why he takes such an interest in me, but whatever 
the reason may be he treats me in every respect as 
his child, and I love him as a father.” 

“ He treats me in every respect as a child, and I 


152 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


love him as a father,” thought Stacy. • “That is 
fine, that is lovely, just as it should be ; ” and then 
assuming his most earnest, sincere look, the very es- 
sence of kindness beaming from his sparkling eyes, 
he said : “ I congratulate you upon your good fortune. 
Indeed, the Doctor could not bestow his affections 
more worthily, and I am glad you have been thus 
honored. Without doubt you intend to remain with 
your benefactor ? ” 

“ Certainly, as long as he desires it ; I could never 
leave him while he wishes me to remain.” 

“ This is a magnificent property, and some day 
somebody will have a fortune,” remarked Stacy in a 
careless manner, but Clare did not then comprehend 
his meaning and made no reply. 

This conversation settled Stacy at once in the de- 
termination to make a grand effort to marry the Doc- 
tor’s fortune, as he said, for now he felt morally con- 
vinced that Clare would be treated by the Doctor in 
his will as a loved and only child. 

He spent days and nights in planning his campaign 
against her. How could he compass his object? 
How could he secure the fortune, even if he had to 
take with it the incumbrance of a wife ? The wife 
must be first captured, but he must so plan the mat- 
ter that he should not by any blunder secure the 
incumbrance and permit the fortune to escape him. 
To this end he must become more intimate with the 
family, become a trusted friend, and thereby learn all 
their family secrets, plans, and expectations. He con- 
ceived that his very first move was to put on the ap- 
pearance of being very sober, sedate, and religiously 
inclined, and to talk much of virtue, morality, and 
the glory of living a pure and spotless life. This he 


A STRANGER. 


153 


knew would please Clare, for he saw in her a deep- 
seated religious feeling, and he also knew that the 
Doctor as well as herself belonged to a neighboring 
Episcopal Church. And he would tell her that he 
was studying law because it opened a wide field for 
usefulness wherein much good could be accomplished, 
and he would sing to her, and with her, solemn sa- 
cred music as most congenial to his soul. He would 
tell her that he had contemplated studying for the 
ministry, but had abandoned the idea because he 
thought the Bar needed a Reformer, and he hoped to 
be able to accomplish lasting good in this corrupted 
field. Finally he would if possible join the choir of 
her church, and become very active and earnest in his 
religious opinions. 

This after mature reflection was the plan resolved 
upon, and Stacy was the man, and had the ability, to 
carry it out to the letter. And hereafter for a time 
we shall see an earnest, devoted, religious youth, — a 
young philanthropist, unselfish and benevolent, labor- 
ing not for himself, but for the reformation and the 
elevation of the human kind. We shall see him an 
active worker for the church, a member of its choir, 
zealous in his advocacy of every benevolent object 
and purpose, — a young Christian laborer of marked 
piety, and remarkable for his energy and devotion. 
Sometimes he had fearful doubts that his labor, zeal, 
and devotion would be all in vain, and would say : 
“ Confound those eyes of hers. They are fathomless 
as eternity, and I am afraid of them. They will 
pierce through this shell of hypocrisy, deceit, and 
fraud, and ruin all my calculations. I will put a 
double armor on ; I must be more than myself, for the 
prize is “ Evergreen Home ” and a fortune. I will have 


154 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


it yet, even if incumbered with a wife I do not love. 
Love ? ■ I should be surprised to learn if William 
Stacy could ever love anything in this wide world 
but himself. He has never yet tried the experiment 
and does not intend to love ? There is no such thing. 
It is a fraud ; men marry for convenience, for money, 
and to satisfy, ambition, hatred, revenge, and for every 
other reason but for love. But this religious life is 
irksome and I am heartily sick of it. It is the road 
to fortune, however, and that is the road I am bound 
to travel. Have patience, the prospects are bright.” 

Dear, innocent girl, — pure, unsuspecting Clare, — 
will she fall a victim to the wiles of this accomplished 
villain ? Will she be deceived by falsehood and wed 
a heart of stone ? Poor girl. She knew but little 
of the darkened ways of the world. Her unspotted 
truth and virtue was her shield. Will it protect her 
from the impending danger ? Will it save her from 
a life of degradation and misery ? 


I 


PERIL. 


155 


CHAPTER XIV. 

PERIL. 

Clare had been living with the Doctor a year 
when she met William Stacy. Into her home of 
happiness and peace he came, glittering with brill- 
iant thoughts, attractive, pleasing to look upon, and 
for a time the sweet contentment and repose of her 
life was destroyed. She enjoyed his company; his 
winning manners, easy, flowing conversation, his looks, 
and the earnest sincerity of his whole character, 
pleased her. He was a law student, and she thought 
one so gifted and so good had the promise of a 
bright future, and she could but look upon his visits 
with pleasure. And thus months passed and Stacy 
became like a member of the family, and Clare was 
happy. 

The Doctor had known of the good name of Stacy’s 
family and was not displeased at his frequent visits, 
but being a cautious man, and entirely devoted to 
Clare’s welfare, he one day called her to him and 
said, — 

“ My child, I have a word of warning for you. 
The frequent visits of Mr. Stacy indicate a serious 
intention on his part, and I hope you will treat the 
matter with equal seriousness.” 

“ Dear Doctor Hume, I am glad you have men- 
tioned the subject. I have long wished to speak with 
you of Mr. Stacy, but I could not well bring myself to 
do it. Do you know anything of him or his family ? ” 


156 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ His family were of good repute, but as to him I 
know nothing except what I have learned here.’’ 

“ Are you not pleased with him ? ” inquired Clare. 

“ His manners are good, his conversation is more 
than ordinary, and his intellect is bright and acute. 
What does my child think of him ? ” 

“ I will tell you most frankly, for I have never con- 
cealed a thought from you. I have been charmed with 
his looks, manner, and conversation. He seems so 
earnest, so pure, so virtuous. He is a professor of 
religion, and talks to me of the beauty of a truly re- 
ligious life, and I think him capable of doing much 
good in the world. His every look and action tells 
me that he loves me, and I feel flattered at his atten- 
tions, and my admiration for his character may be 
akin to that of love : I do not know.” 

“ I thought as much, my dear, and I wish to give 
you a word of caution,” said the Doctor, and Clare’s 
cheeks were flushed with excitement and interest. 
The Doctor continued : “ Mr. Stacy is not displeasing 
to me, and I thought it very probable that he might 
more than please my earnest, unsuspecting child, but 
I pray you to be cautious before you take the irrevo- 
cable step./flBe very sure you are not yourself deceived 
as to your feeling towards him. Be sure you know 
what it is to love, and do not suppose that admiration 
for a sparkling mind is in any manner related to the 
wealth of love a wife should give her husband. There 
is no hurry about this matter, and time will surely 
reveal the innermost feelings of your own heart, and 
may bring to light traits of character in him you now 
admire that a short acquaintance conceals. In the 
business of choosing a husband, or of being chosen by 
one, I ask you to make haste slowly.” 


PERIL. 


157 


Clare’s cheeks were on fire, but the Doctor contin- 
ued : ’^Marriage is the most important event in life, 
and should be contemplated with becoming solemnity. 
It is a sacred institution, and if we would be honest 
with ourselves when we make a profession of religion, 
or when we act in any of the highest concerns of life, 
we should be equally honest, equally sincere, and 
equally convinced that we are not making a mistake 
when we plight our faith in marriage.” 

“ You do not doubt Mr. Stacy’s honesty and sin- 
cerity ? ” asked Clare in astonishment. 

“ My dear child, I have no particular reason for 
doubting his honesty, but I have seen much of the 
world, and know something how to read the characters 
of men, and I would give you the benefit of my expe- 
rience. Mr. Stacy appears to be the embodiment of 
sincerity, but I have known men with this appearance 
who were vile hypocrites, and who made their sincer- 
ity a mere cloak to cover up their sins. I have seen 
men make solemn professions of religion for a like 
purpose, and become active in pushing forward the 
interests of the church. . My child, men are not always 
what they seem to be.^ But these are merely words 
of caution, and only spoken to cause you to be careful 
and not deceived. First of all, do not be self-de- 
ceived, and then do not be imposed upon by a mere 
appearance of honesty and virtue. It is barely pos- 
sible that Mr. Stacy’s religion and virtue, his morality 
and his truth, are all assumed, for the reason that he 
thinks these traits of character are pleasing to you. 
j'Sound him deeply before it is too late. l^Too much 
solemnity, too much sincerity, is sometimes a very 
bad sign.” 

Clare was all innocence herself and did not suspect 


158 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


any one of hypocrisy, and the least of all Mr. Stacy ; 
but she thanked the Doctor for his kind words, and 
although they caused her considerable unrest she was 
glad they had been spoken. She reviewed her ac- 
quaintance with Stacy and called to mind many of 
the noble sentiments he had uttered, and wondered 
if it were possible they were designed to cover up his 
real character and to deceive her. She did not be- 
lieve it. She did not believe human nature capable 
of being so vile and wicked, but she would look at 
her lover with the Doctor’s eyes, not doubting that he 
would come forth from the ordeal triumphantly. 

After this interview with the Doctor she was sur- 
prised often to find herself comparing Stacy with 
Richard. Why she did this she could not tell, for 
now Richard was a complete stranger ; they had been 
long separated, and very likely would never meet 
again ; and yet, as if by intuition and without any 
effort or action of the mind, she found herself placing 
these two persons side by side, and contrasting one 
with the other. 

At the next visit of Stacy there was a shadow upon 
Clare’s brow, and she was inclined to be unusually 
sober and serious. Stacy, noticing this earnest, 
thoughtful mood, tried to cheer and enliven her, and 
this he soon succeeded in doing, for who could be 
sober when within the charm of his presence ? At 
length he said : “ You have a beautiful home here, 
surrounded by all the comforts of life, and your place 
in society is secured, and I think my friend ought to 
be very happy and very cheerful.” 

“ The splendor of one’s home does not always bring 
happiness,” said Clare. 

“ But wealth brings position and influence, and 


PERIL. 


159 


what does one amount to if they are consigned to 
oblivion by- poverty ? ” eagerly and with spirit re- 
sponded Stacy. He had touched upon the great idea 
that was moulding his destiny, and forgetting for a 
single instant that he was playing the part of a Chris- 
tian full of meekness and devotion, he betrayed the 
shadow of the monster within him. 

Clare answered his interrogatory and said : “ None 
can be truly happy unless they lead true, earnest, 
noble lives, and wealth does not secure nobility of 
character. As for myself, I could be just as happy 
in my childhood home by the sea as in a palace of 
wealth. The obscurity of poverty does not alarm 
me, for none are so poor that they cannot lead hon- 
est, upright lives. How worthless is gold when placed 
by the side of a noble deed.” 

“ Your views are all well enough in the abstract, 
but as society is organized wealth is power, and pov- 
erty is despised, and I would be rich for the influence 
riches brings. The thought of plodding along in the 
lower walks of life has no charms for me. I know it 
is heroic and sentimental to talk about living a true 
noble life in the ranks of poverty, unseen by any one 
except an overruling Providence ; but thus to live, to 
be despised and frowned upon by the rich and power- 
ful, would be misery indeed. I will not so live.” 

“ Do you not think you are a little proud, and is 
not your standard of happiness a very uncertain one, 
for wealth is fleeting ? It is not stable and secure, and 
if you depend upon it for success your life may be a 
failure. I would have a higher, nobler standard, — one 
entirely independent of wealth or poverty, one not 
subject to the caprices of fickle fortune, — a satisfied 
conscience, an upright mind, and a pure heart. Do 


160 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


you not know that vast fortunes are generally built 
up at the expense of honest toil, and that they are 
cemented together by the aches and the pains of un- 
requited labor ? ” 

“But what does that matter ? The possession of 
wealth overshadows all these minor considerations. 
Society only looks at the dollar, and does not stop to 
inquire how it was obtained.” 

“ Is society the keeper of your conscience ? Could 
you enjoy wealth acquired by dishonest means ? No. 
I will answer that for you, and say I know you could 
not. Money thus obtained would bring curses to 
its possessor. It would blight his life. The truest 
wealth, the fortune of priceless value, is an honest 
mind, willing hands, and a pure heart.” 

These clear, earnest words of Clare caused Stacy 
for once to feel his own utter depravity, but rallying 
himself he said : “ Your ideal is a dream, and a dream 
that will never be realized, for money can satisfy the 
conscience, and an upright mind is a thing to be 
bought and sold for gold. I will have money, and if 
necessary buy the good opinion of mankind.” 

Clare looked at him in utter amazement, for she 
saw at a glance that such principles would lead to a 
life of dishonesty, corruption, and crime, and she said : 
“ Mr. Stacy, you are standing upon the very brink of 
ruin. Let me tell you that the good opinions of man- 
kind are not so easily purchased. Indeed they are 
not generally for sale, and never when of any value.” 

Stacy was alarmed. He had in his warmth said 
more than policy dictated to be prudent, and so, full 
of humble apology, he begged to recall what he had 
said, and that he only disagreed with her in order to 
call forth her power of argument which he so much 


PERIL. 


161 


admired. And then quickly he drew a beautiful 
picture of a true, noble life, and declared that the 
happiest men were often in the lowest circles of the 
social scale, and as for himself nobility of character 
was the jewel, and wealth could go to the dogs. 

But his smooth words did not entirely clear away 
Clare’s suspicions, and the interval that elapsed before 
the next visit was one of new thoughts to both par- 
ties. Stacy feared he had revealed his cloven foot, 
and betrayed to the clear-sighted girl his real ideas 
of life, and Clare was disturbed by distressing doubts 
and fears. The next visit came, and the eloquent 
tongue of Stacy for the time being silenced her un- 
defined suspicions, and she was happy again, — happy 
to think she could have the society of one so gifted 
and so good. Yet when away from and beyond the 
reach of his magnetic influence, the lingering doubts 
would return to plague her. 

One day when riding with Uncle George, the coach- 
man, he said to Clare, after a long and profound 
silence upon his part, “ Lady Clar, may I say sum- 
thin’ to ye ? ” 

“ Why yes. Uncle George, anything you like.” 

“ It is only my lub for you that makes me want to 
speak to ye.” 

‘‘I know you love me. Uncle George, so you can 
say anything you desire.” 

“ And you will not tink me impurdunt or sacy ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Well den. Lady Clar, I say Massa Stacy hab a 
berry smood tongue. You must look out for him ; 
I ’ze seen dat kind befo’.” 

“ Uncle George, do you know anything against 
him?” 




11 


162 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“No, no, Lady Clar, but be hab an oily tongue. 
He say berry fine words, and dem are de kind dat 
need watchin’.’’ 

Could it be possible, thought Clare, that she alone 
was deceived by Stacy while all others, even her old 
servant, read his character aright? Had her admi- 
ration beclouded her judgment ? Had his charms 
blinded her eyes ? She could not think it possible. 
And yet she wondered if real, earnest, all-consuming, 
all-devouring love had such doubts and such fears. 
And thus the winter passed, interspersed with lights 
and shadows. In the presence of Stacy, Clare was 
not unhappy, the charm of his society mesmerized 
her, but in his absence the clouds would come and 
obscure the sunshine. 

Stacy in his wild dreams of plunder thought his 
conquest made, and already he assumed the air of 
wealth and vast importance. 

Early in the spring he declared his love in words 
of burning passion, and asked Clare to be his wife. 
She had expected this and was prepared for it. She 
resisted his power over her, so far as to beg for time 
to consider his proposal. He was impatient, almost 
domineering, but Clare recalled the words of the 
Doctor, and asked for delay. She was mesmerized 
again by his power, and if she had decided then and 
there, very likely she would have promised to have 
become his faithful, loving wife ; but the counsel of 
the Doctor came to her, even she remembered what 
Uncle George had said, and resisting his earnest en- 
treaties decided to delay her answer. Stacy brought 
with him an engagement ring, and begged Clare to 
permit him to place it upon her finger. He asked 
her to take off the ring she wore (Richard’s gift). 


PERIL. 


163 


and put his in its place. To this Clare replied, “ I 
cannot now take off this ring. It is connected with 
old associations I cannot quite give up.” 

“ Tell me the history of this wonderful ring,” said 
Stacy with a sneer, yet pale and trembling from 
head to foot. 

“ At some other time perhaps, not now,” replied 
Clare ; and Stacy almost frenzied with rage, fear, 
jealousy, despair, but with outward calmness, and 
seemingly well satisfied, said, “ I am content ; I can 
wait patiently for your answer. You have my des- 
tiny in your keeping. I will come again and receive 
my fate. Good-by.” 

He left. Clare was almost prostrate with agita- 
tion, and as the door closed upon him, these words 
came throbbing into her mind, ^^Tell her to remem- 
her the parting at the gate in the years to come,"* 
From whence did they come ? She had not thought 
of them before for a long time. They were words 
spoken to her childhood years ago by a man, and 
that man now a stranger, and perhaps the voice that 
uttered them was silenced forever. But in this su- 
preme moment of her life these words, like letters of 
gold, burning and glowing with dazzling light, flashed 
through her mind. Did they come floating through 
the air borne from afar to shield her from danger and 
harm? They came at least from somewhere, and 
they were not unwelcome. 

Clare immediately informed the Doctor of what 
had transpired, and he, with an approving smile, 
said: “My darling child, you did well and nobly. At 
one time I feared you would promise thoughtlessly ; 
but there is no hurry, you are now but eighteen years 
old, and an answer to Mr. Stacy in one year will be 




164 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


ill good time. Did it ever occur to you that Stacy 
put forth his religious character altogether too promi- 
nently for an earnest, sincere Christian ? ” 

“ Oh, Doctor Hume, I am sometimes distressed 
with grave suspicions. Can men be so wicked ? ” 

“ My child, you do not love Mr. Stacy. jP'rue#love 
has no suspicions.” 

“ Oh, I am wretched, I know not what to do,” said 
Clare. 

“Your firmness has given you ample time to con- 
sider. Do not be distressed. Time, the revealer, will 
make all things clear. Time is your friend. Hold 
fast to it.” 

Stacy could not understand the girl’s firmness in 
refusing him. He thought he had her completely in 
his power, but he construed her delay in answering 
favorably to his cause, and renewed his efforts with 
vigor. Soon after Stacy’s proposal Clare received 
the news of the death of her father, at the battle of 
Five Forks. His name was published among the 
killed in that encounter. Clare was in agony, — al- 
most wild. How she had longed for his return. How 
patiently she had waited to tell him of the last days 
of her mother, and to weep with him over her grave. 
Now her hopes were all blasted and she was indeed 
an orphan, all alone, not a tie of blood to bind her 
to the earth, and she wished to join her kindred in 
the happier home. She had been much agitated in 
her mind for days previously over Stacy’s proposal, 
sometimes thinking she would give him an affirma- 
tive answer, and dreaming for a moment of the bliss 
of a home and a husband of her love ; and then the 
doubts would come, the fearful misgivings and fears. 


PERIL. 


165 


that her lover was not what her fond dreams made 
him, and then Richard’s image would appear unbid- 
den, uncalled for, like a ghost to haunt her. Oh, 
why was this, and where was Richard ? She had 
remembered his parting words as he had bidden her 
through the weary years ; but it did no good, he was 
gone, he could not help her, his voice was hushed. 
Was he her guardian angel, and did he come from 
the spheres to warn her of trouble ? 

Distressed and agitated when she received the 
news of her father’s death, this sad event but added 
a terrible load to her trouble, and she became pros- 
trated for days, and was threatened with a dangerous 
illness, — indeed the raging fever was already upon 
her, burning up her life. During her prostration 
Stacy came to meet her, not having heard of her ill- 
ness. He met Uncle George at the gate, and was 
informed of Clare’s sickness, and that he had best 
defer his visit. 

“You d — d black nigger, don’t you advise me 
what I had better do. Open the gate, slave, and 
let me in.” 

“ I hab my orders and obeys dem, and more dan 
dat, I shall ’form Lady Clar ob how Massa Stacy can 
damn a poor col’d man. Such ’ligion won’t ’ceive 
Lady Clar,” and Stacy turned away in his wrath, 
but the reply of Uncle George caused him to fear he 
had made a great mistake. Days passed, and after 
Clare’s partial recovery he was admitted to see her. 
He was eloquent in his sympathy and protestations 
of love, declaring to her that the love of a devoted 
husband could alone supply the place of a dear father 
and mother. Clare thanked him and wished to be 
left alone. Still the days passed by, but she did not 


166 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


recover rapidly, and the Doctor and his sister became 
alarmed at her condition. Her mind was almost dis- 
tracted. Her father and mother were both gone, and 
not a tie of kindred in the wide world. She would 
cry out in her anguish, “ An orphan, an orphan ! 
Dear parents, why cannot I join you in that beautiful 
country dear mother saw just before she entered it. 
Alone, all alone ! Oh my poor heart, why not cease 
your beatiixg and be at rest ? 

The Doctor would comfort her and say : “ My dar- 
ling child, do not grieve ; do not suffer so. You are 
not alone. You have dear friends around you, who 
love you as a daughter. My home is your home. 
You shall not want, and we give you all our love.” 

Clare continued feeble, and sometimes when in a 
half-dreaming, half- waking condition she would think 
of Richard. He was, if alive, in the army, and per- 
haps he could give her some word from her father ; 
perhaps he was with him when he died, and learned 
that he was the father of his little school-girl ; her 
parting words to her father had been a request that 
he find Richard ; who knew but he had done so ; but 
waking, her dream vanished away, and her bleeding 
heart was desolate. Still would she murmur, “ Alone ! 
all alone, a poor, helpless, homeless orphan ! Long 
had I waited to fall upon my dear father’s breast, and 
tell him of mother, of her calm and peaceful death, 
and of the parting word she sent to him, and so much 
had I treasured up to say to give him comfort and 
consolation ; but it is all over, the brightest dreams 
have vanished, the brightest hopes have fled, and I 
am alone ! ” 

Her symptoms continued alarming, and the Doctor, 
knowing her love for the sea, thought a change of 


PERIL, 


167 


scenes would divert her mind from her great sorrow 
and bring her health. He therefore proposed a visit 
to Europe, — a visit he and his sister had contem- 
plated making for years. 

The proposition, while it alarmed, yet revived 
Clare. It alarmed, because she did not before the 
proposal know her health was' in so dangerous a con- 
dition as to require such a journey for its restora- 
tion ; but it gave her new couragej for she loved the 
sea, and she hoped it would inspire her with better 
thoughts. 

Stacy was much out of patience with the contem- 
plated visit to Europe, for the success of his project 
depended upon its being consummated quickly. He 
had hoped to bring the matter to an issue while 
Clare was yet suffering so deeply over the death of 
her father, and while she felt so weak and helpless, 
and he must now hasten to carry this idea into ex- 
ecution. He must take advantage of her weakness, 
for now he thought she could not resist him. He 
approached her with this view, and said in his most 
winning voice ; ‘‘ My darling, my love, my heart is 
overflowing with sympathy for you in your great dis- 
tress, and I mourn for your father as if he were my 
own. But, my love, lean on me. Let me supply the 
place of a father by being your devoted husband. 
My life is at your service. I devote myself to you 
forever.” 

“ Not now. No, not now. Do not make me think. 
My mind is distracted by a sorrow you cannot con- 
ceive unless you have experienced it. I cannot think 
properly or see clearly, so I cannot make any promise 
now. You must wait until I am strong and well 
again, upon my return from Europe. Are you not 


168 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


glad I can make the journey ? It will make me well 
again.” 

Then thinking to arouse her sympathies he said: 
“ I too am an orphan ; that you already know. I 
have suffered as you are now suffering, and thus are 
our hearts bound together, and who can so well give 
you sympathy and love as he who has passed through 
the same ordeal that you are now enduring ? But do 
not, pray do not, my darling, make me suffer more. 
Do not kill me. Do not craze my already distracted 
mind by the agony of doubt and delay. I can wait, 
oh so patiently, if you will only give me your hand 
and your heart before you go. Give me your prom- 
ise and end this fearful suspense. You know you 
are mine forever. Then why not say so at once, and 
we shall both be happier than ever before.” 

How earnestly did he plead. His whole soul was 
wrought up to the work, for he was struggling for 
a fortune. He was making love to the incumbrance, 
but behind it he saw the god whom he worshiped. 

Clare replied : “ I am distressed and full of trouble, 
and now is not the proper time for our betrothal, even 
if we were both prepared for it. I am amazed at 
what you said to Uncle George. He says you cursed 
him, and he warned me that your religion and mo- 
rality were all assumed.” 

“ I hope, darling, that you do not believe that 
mousing servant before your trusted lover. I said 
nothing improper to him, and his suspicions that I am 
dishonest are worthy of his race and his ignorance.” 

“ I am glad to hear you disclaim any improper con- 
versation with Uncle George. It reassures me. But 
you must wait. Why this unseeming haste ? You do 
not want me unless you have with me my whole 


PERIL. 


169 


heart ; that I cannot now give. Are you fearful that 
time will defeat you ? Time and absence will only 
increase the love we give to those we love. Do not 
say that I am cruel. I am only honest, and that I 
know you so much admire in all, and under all cir- 
cumstances.” 

This last arrow pierced through his heart, and on 
bended knees before her, all pale and trembling as 
she was, but looking a queen of truth and purity, he 
again protested his love, his faith, and his patience, 
and again urged their immediate betrothal. 

At this moment the Doctor came into the room, 
and having overheard a part, and comprehending the 
balance of their conversation, said : “ No, no, this is 
not the time for a betrothal, so immediately following 
the death of Clare’s father. This, Mr. Stacy, you 
ought to have taken into consideration before you 
made the proposition. See how pale she looks and 
how weak. You have distressed her. There should 
be no hurry in these matters. Clare is worth waiting 
a lifetime for, and you are not even admitted to the 
Bar. This haste looks very much like a struggle for 
something not yet disclosed. Be patient. There is 
nothing so kind as time. It ripens and matures love. 
It reveals the human heart.” 

Stacy’s eyes glared fire upon the Doctor as he ut- 
tered these words, and Clare noticing his angry look 
said : “ Do not, I pray you, betray such feelings to- 
wards the Doctor. He is my dearest friend, my 
counselor, and I must follow his advice. Indeed 
does time bring to light strange things.” 

“ I am content. I will wait patiently and full of 
hope. Only my unbounded love made me impatient. 
It shall be my anchor and my hope. I will rest upon 


170 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


it and feel secure during all your dreary absence,” 
said Stacy with illy concealed rage, and taking Clare 
by the hand said good-night and departed. As he 
returned to his home he was overwhelmed with trou- 
bles : Clare was not yet entirely won he thought ; 
and then he feared her clear head would pierce 
through the crust of his assumptions and discover his 
real feelings and intentions, for he had never encoun- 
tered a keener mind, and her eyes seemed to look to 
the bottom of his heart. “ What a short-sighted fool 
to discover to her my love of money and influence. 
She will wonder how such an inordinate desire com- 
ports with my devout religious professions. I have 
overworked the matter. These devout Christians are 
meek, humble fellows, and I have been forward, 
eager, and anxious ; and then there is that infernal 
nigger ; I could kill him. I must smooth over all 
these rough places and not make a fool of myself 
again, for “ Evergreen Home ” is the prize. That is 
worth struggling for, and that I will have by fair 
means or foul ; Stacy is not yet discouraged. So time 
is a revelator ? For once I agree with the celebrated 
Doctor Hume. He will yet see what it reveals.” 

The preparations for the departure to Europe were 
now nearly completed, and the excitement of getting 
ready had so far calmed Clare that she was cheerful 
and anticipated much pleasure and profit from the 
journey. 

The day for their departure had now arrived and 
friends were assembled to say farewell, and early 
came Stacy. He professed much anguish at parting 
with Clare, but could not extort from her the promise 
he so much coveted, and with all her kindness to him 
he was troubled with the idea that she did not display 


PERIL. 


171 


much sorrow at parting. At length the farewells 
had all been spoken, and Clare, the Doctor, and his 
sister set out on their voyage, in pursuit of a balm 
for a distracted mind, — in search of a remedy for 
a bleeding heart. 

Clare was at home on the sea, and its majesty 
calmed her. As in childhood a walk upon the beach 
would heal her puny griefs and drown her trouble, 
so now its sights and sounds brought peace to her 
troubled spirit. Looking out upon the boundless 
waves she saw with a clearer vision. She studied the 
character of Stacy. She saw to the bottom of his 
heart ; the glaring inconsistencies of his declarations 
and his principles were revealed to her. Time had 
been her friend, for she learned at last that her feel- 
ing for him was not love, and that he had never 
received any of the boundless aifection of her heart ; 
that it had never opened its innermost treasures to 
him, for now she beheld the depths of true and holy 
love. She learned that such love did not stumble at 
every feeble doubt, but that it moved on and on un- 
heeding all the world, and dreaming only of the ob- 
ject of its worship. She now knew that her feeling 
for Stacy was simply admiration for his ability, while 
all the time she distrusted his honesty and sincerity, 
and now she saw him as an imposter, a base deceiver. 
His interview with Uncle George, his grasping ambi- 
tion for money, his willingness to sacrifice his name, 
his character, his truth, his honor, yea his conscience 
for gold, all stood out in bold relief, and she brushed 
away the thin covering under which he had tried to 
conceal himself. She read his innermost heart and 
beheld all its baseness and depravity, and shuddered 
to think what might have been. His early words, 


1T2 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


that “ Somebody would have a fortune some day,” 
came to her now, and she read their concealed mean- 
ing as in the light of perfect day. What wickedness, 
what corruption and hypocrisy ! But she had es- 
caped its toils, and she felt like devoutly thanking her 
Maker for her great deliverance. She looked upon 
her escape, as one rescued from the gulf of despair ; 
and if before she had been distressed, now she was 
elated, and she cried out in gladness : “ Oh, the sea, 
the sea ! Thou dear old friend of my childhood, 
thou who didst console me then, so now thou art the 
friend of my maturer years, and thy voices have 
taught me how to read my own heart, and hast saved 
me from a life of misery and degradation.” 

When their voyage was nearing its end Clare called 
the Doctor to her, and feeling brighter and happier 
than for months before, said : “ You have preserved 
me, my dearest friend, from a living death : I feel 
happier than at any time before for many months. A 
great burden is lifted from my heart ; I reject Mr. 
Stacy’s proposal, and I do so without any lingering 
doubts. What you said is true enough ; I have never 
loved him, and now I see it and feel it, oh so clearly, 
and I ought to thank you again and again for pre- 
serving me from a world of misery, — for shielding 
me from a life of absolute starvation of the heart and 
all the nobler affections. Time, truly, has been my 
friend. Its revelations have been startling, and they 
come none too soon, but they come to save.” 

The Doctor feeling that a load had been lifted 
from his own heart joyfully said : ‘‘ My darling child, 
I knew you would work out this problem all alone 
better than any one could do so for you. I knew you 
would discover if Stacy satisfied your whole heart, in 


PERIL. 


173 


time, and I thought you would discover his hypocrisy 
or honesty also, and I only asked you to take the 
necessary time to learn the secrets of your own soul 
and of Stacy’s heart. You had the courage to wait 
and to reflect, and I bless you for it. I trusted to 
your own keen observation and reflection. But I 
had formed the resolution to tell you, at an early 
day, what I had discovered about Stacy that alarmed 
me.” 

“ Di(b you distrust his honesty and sincerity ? ” in- 
quired Clare. 

“ I did, at the time I first cautioned you. It was 
not you he wanted, but he hoped to use you to obtain 
what he desired more.” 

“ What could that be ? ” 

“ Does he not worship money ? ” 

“Yes, he once betrayed to me the fact that he 
would sell his soul for wealth ; and long ago he care- 
lessly said that your property would some day make 
somebody a handsome fortune.” 

“ I thought as much. It was money he was after. 
But my property will not make Mr. Stacy a fortune, 
— will it, my child?” 

“ I hope not, but I cannot see how it could even if 
I had married him.” 

“ Perhaps in the future you will be able to discover 
how that very thing might have been accomplished, 
my child : I cannot tell you now.” 

Clare could not feel perfectly contented, or at rest, 
until her decision had been communicated to Stacy, 
and the next steamer that left Liverpool after their 
arrival carried to him the following letter — 


174 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


. Liverpool, England, May, 1865 . 
Mr. William Stacy ; — 

Sir, — Your proposal of marriage to my Clare has been 
rejected by her, and with her decision I am entirely content. 
This conclusion was arrived at by her without any consul- 
tation with my sister or myself. Your declaration that my 
property will some day make somebody a handsome for- 
tune is true, but that somebody will not be Mr. William 
Stacy, Attorney at Law. Your armor of hypocrisy and 
deceit has been pierced through and through by the acute 
mind of her who will be a fortune to some one worthy of 
her, when the proper time comes. 

You will therefore consider your proposition answered, 
and your visits to “ Evergreen Home ” at an end. 

Respectfully, 

Cornelius Hume. 


MAY 


175 


CHAPTER XV. 

MAY. 

At Pembroke Place, and it is May, 1864. A score 
of Mays and more have passed away since first we 
beheld it, embowered in the lap of lovely spring, 
breathing the perfumed air of opening buds and 
fiowers. Each succeeding year had plowed a deeper 
furrow in the care-worn brows of Charles and Julia 
Pembroke. This month haunted all the year: it 
brooded over their home and clouded their hearts ; it 
never departed ; it haunted their lives. And now 
the timidity and the fears of age had come: their 
strong arms had lost their power ; their stout hearts 
were discouraged ; their tenacity of purpose and en- 
durance had been lost among the graves of the many 
years ; the courage of their youth had departed, and 
the little troubles then so easily disposed of and sur- 
mounted were now magnified into mountains of dif- 
ficulties. Their ambition, once so powerful, so ab- 
sorbing and fearless, had been broken by the weight 
of years, and they longed for rest and peace. And 
so, after a lifetime of struggle and labor, do we long 
for repose, and thus are we made ready to take the 
untried journey that leads to a better life and to a 
sweeter labor. Their love for their son — blessed 
thought — had not grown cold ; ah no, it burned and 
blazed with a steady flame, pure and lovely ; but its 
instruments had become broken and worn out with 


176 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


long-continued use ; its hands and its arms were pal- 
sied, and it could but blaze on until provided with 
other organs and instruments whereby to labor on 
forever. 

May, fatal May, was again at hand. For forty 
years Charles had watched its coming ; ever since the 
death of his father had the burden of this month and 
the trial of passing it rested upon his shoulders, and 
he had prepared for it as for the wicked enemy of his 
peace, as the robber of his joys. Punctual as the sun, 
inexorable as fate, undisturbed by sighs and tears, by 
wars and revolutions, by blood and carnage, it came, 
and with it Bowker, its evil genius, its skeleton ghost, 
its grinning fiend. 

Richard was still in the war. For three terrible 
years had his parents expected that every morning 
breeze and every evening shadow would bring to 
them tidings of the death of him they worshiped, 
their idol and their joy. Would the war never end ? 
Would this overshadowing scourge and terror never 
depart ? Would the joys of home never return ? Re- 
call the days of the terrible combat. Desolation filled 
the land. Grim-visaged death was in the air ; the 
electric spark daily and almost hourly penetrated the 
lonely home, telling the sad story of him who went 
down upon the field of death. Mourning was in every 
household. The old father palsied with years, trem- 
bling over the grave, had given his son, the staff of his 
declining days ; the young wife in the morning of life 
had sent her husband, her hope and protection ; the 
young, the fair, the rich and poor went forth at their 
country’s call to misery and to death ; a vacant chair 
was at every table, a skeleton in every household. 
Oh ! the prayers and the tears of those weary, agoniz- 


MAY. 


177 


ing years. No history can recall and no imagination 
paint them. Only He who notes the sparrow’s fall 
has kept the holy record in the archives of heaven. 

And still the carnage went on. The days so filled 
with alarms, so burdened with the cries of bleeding 
hearts, were lengthened to years of agony. The 
world outside was clamoring for the death of the Ke- 
public. The land was filled with graves. The best 
blood of the nation had drenched the Southern soil. 
The bones of the patriot dead lay bleaching upon the 
banks of the Potomac, in the swamps of the Chicka- 
hominy, and by the bayous of the far-off Mississippi. 
Fatherless children wandered through the land. Pen- 
niless, broken-hearted widows utterly desolate, incon- 
solable, the pictures of despair, with little children at 
their sides, were in every community and neighbor- 
hood. Old gray-haired men sat by the way-side and 
in the market place, the staff of their decrepitude 
broken and gone, wearily waiting the day of their de- 
liverance from care and trouble. The black hurricane 
of war had swept over the land, spreading death and 
destruction upon every side. 

Would this carnage never cease? Would the fell 
destroyer never stay its bloody hand ? Must Richard 
too go down in the strife ? 

But what cared Bowker for this carnival of death, 
this night of gloom, sorrow, and despair ? He gloried 
in it. He was the grinning fiend of the whirlwind 
and the storm, and laughed when it raged with great- 
est fury. He had no sons to be slaughtered, no friends 
to lose, and what cared he for the sufferings of others 
so long as his bony fingers could clinch his loans, his 
rents, his mortgages, and his gold ? 

This fatal May still lingered at Pembroke Place. 

12 


178 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Its coming had long been foretold in the sad and de- 
spairing look that had of late settled down upon the 
household. The interest money was not in hand. 
Last year and the year before it had been procured 
by sacrificing property, the loss of which crippled the 
means of production, and so this year they were far 
behind. The frosts of more than sixty-five winters 
rested upon the brow of Charles ; his once strong and 
stately step was now faltering and uncertain ; the 
aches and the pains of age were creeping on, and he 
was discouraged. He had given a lifetime of manly 
labor to the redemption of the farm. He could do no 
more. And why not give up the hopeless struggle ? 
The dreaded event would come next year or the next ; 
but a few more years at farthest could he expect to 
labor, and what was the motive for further effort? 
Richard might be dead ; they did not know, for a whole 
month had elapsed since they had received a word 
from him, and if he was gone why struggle longer ? 

Distracted with fear and suspense while the Wil- 
derness battles were being fought, knowing that their 
son was in the midk of the strife, unable to hear from 
him, and beside themselves with agonizing fears, los- 
ing sight of everything in their alarm for their son, 
forgetting themselves, the farm, and the precious 
memories that clustered about it, they saw the in- 
terest-paying day arrive as a matter of minor conse- 
quence, their greater agony having driven away the 
fear of Bowker. 

But with the day came Bowker also. The interest 
was not ready ; the farm must go. “ Take the farm,” 
said Charles; “we want only our son. Assure us 
that he is alive, and we gladly give up everything.” 
Bowker had won. The Cane had triumphed over 


MAY. 


179 


Time ; the heartless, soulless miser had wrought the 
ruin he had so patiently waited to accomplish. Look 
at his pinched and withered face, his bent and totter- 
ing form. He laughs. He had waited for years for 
this glad hour. If the gates of heaven had opened 
for him and assured him of forgiveness and happiness, 
he would have turned away and taken his chances 
upon Pembroke Place. He is almost overpowered 
with joy. He does not at once realize his happiness. 
Has he not lived a lifetime for this, and now he is 
victor. He laughs again. The whole beauty of the 
situation is dawning upon him, and the prospects are 
so inviting. He is charmed. Look again. Is it a 
ghastly skeleton, a dried and blackened mummy ani- 
mated by the Evil One? See how he grins and 
clinches his fingers, how his eyes glisten and glare, 
how his-chin, projecting beyond his nose, quivers with 
emotion. Oh, it is the miser’s spasm of joy, the frui- 
tion of a hope long deferred. At length he speaks, and 
replying to Charles, said : “I assure you that your 
son is alive ? I do this and then you give up the farm ? 
Bowker assures nothing. Your old Kent coaxed an 
agreement out of me years ago by which I have been 
robbed of the farm ever since. Now it is mine. Ha, 
ha ! It came at last in spite of your Kents and your 
Kichards. Why did you not come mousing around 
old Bowker’s house again this year ? Now, Mr. Pem- 
broke, as a matter of form, I demand the interest this 
day due.” 

“ I hear you,” answered Charles. 

“ But that is not the point : will you pay it ? ” 

“ I cannot.” 

“ Then I shall foreclose.” 

“ So I supposed.” 


180 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ And at once. Not one moment’s delay.” 

“ I expected no delay, I expected no mercy. We 
shall find some other home, but we will not walk the 
streets and beg for bread.” 

“ Who asked you to ? But don’t be too free with 
your promises. Go your way. The suit to foreclose 
will be commenced at once. Good day.” 

Bowker left. He felt that he had won a famous 
victory and was joyful and happy. Not for years 
had he felt so jubilant. He was young again. He 
rolled off the weight of years from his shoulders and 
stood almost erect. And this glad news must be con- 
veyed immediately to his friend and co-worker, his 
counselor. Popper. The humane policy of the law 
was likely to be vindicated. The agreement that had 
stood so much in the way of the fair administration of 
justice, according to Popper, was now a harmless 
thing, and no doubt the attorney and client would re- 
joice together. 

As had been promised by Bowker the suit to fore- 
close was commenced at once, and the usual proceed- 
ings had. There was no defense to interpose, and it 
ended in a judgment and decree of foreclosure, and 
order of sale thereon. Soon a sale by the sheriff at 
public auction took place, and Bowker became the 
purchaser for the amount of the mortgage, and a con- 
veyance of the farm to him in proper form quickly 
followed. By the last of July, 1864, the deed was 
fully accomplished, and Bowker’s victory complete. 

And so the labors and the toils of a lifetime were 
dust and ashes, the hopes of years and years were 
withered and blasted, the great struggle had been in 
vain. 


MAY. 


181 


Revered Pembroke, with its sacred memories and 
its beautiful life, bleeding at every pore, had been 
polluted by the possession of a stranger, and such a 
stranger! It was no longer Pembroke Place, but 
Bowker’s Ruin. 


182 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

PEACE. 

The war had ended and the nation was saved. 
Liberty had survived the tempest and the storm ; 
Slavery had perished in the^ agony of the strife. It 
went down covered with ignominy and disgrace. It 
had filled the land with loyal blood ; it had clothed 
our horned in mourning. The accumulated madness of 
two hundred and fifty years of crime against liberty 
and human nature had spent its fury in the thunder- 
bolt of war against the Union of the Fathers. But 
that noble Union, defended by ten hundred thousand 
devoted men in arms on the field and prayed for by 
twenty- five millions at home, weathered the fury of 
the blast, and rode at anchor in the haven of freedom 
and safety. Then and there commenced the true life 
of the American people. Then indeed were we born 
again as a nation, and born to redemption and salva- 
tion. There, amidst the storm of shot and shell, were 
sown the seeds of enduring greatness and empire. 
The ordinary progress of a hundred years was crowded 
into a moment’s time. We of this generation in our 
brief lives have lived ages. We have witnessed 
events that, in the usual course of things, spread 
themselves over the lifetime of a nation. Then let 
us thank God for the Rebellion. It came to save us 
from a lingering death. It came to cleanse, to purify, 
and to make us free. And we rejoice, but in our joy 


PEACE. 


183 


let us not forget the glorious dead and their surviving 
companions, who by their courage and their blood 
purchased for us a redeemed nation. Keep their 
heroic deeds ever green in grateful memory. Bring 
flowers to their graves, bring everlasting flowers, and 
teach the children that come after us the same sacred 
service. Plant the germ of faith and hope and trust, 
nurture it with prayers and tears ; it will bud and 
bloom in Paradise. 

The war had ended. Smiling Peace wreathed with 
the crown of victory had returned to bless the land. 
One million of citizen soldiers, whose valor had taught 
the world the sublimity of courage and the sanctity 
of patriotism, had disbanded and dispersed, to again 
resume the pen, the plow, the anvil, and the forge, 
and all the occupations of peace, and Richard and 
John, in the spring of 1865, after the glorious day at 
Appomattox, when the great Lee surrendered to the 
greater Grant, returned to their homes. They came 
as did the knights-errant of old hastening from Pal- 
estine to their lady-loves, dreaming bright dreams and 
singing songs of chivalry and adventure. Richard was 
now twenty-five, strong and active ; the experience of 
the war had ripened and matured him, his ambition 
towered high and steady, he felt able to conquer every 
difi&culty and to remove every obstacle. His parents 
had not yet informed him of the disaster to Pem- 
broke Place, for why make him miserable while yet 
it was unnecessary, and as he journeyed homeward 
he was inspired with a great purpose. He would 
save his father’s home, he would unite with his par- 
ents in one mighty effort to pay the mortgage, and 
rescue the abode of their love and their hope from 
its unrelenting grasp. He looked beyond, and saw 


184 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


himself delivering the dying words of John Lincoln 
to Clare and her mother ; and beyond this, to that 
ecstatic period when he should deliver to Clare a mes- 
sage from his own heart, whose burning words had 
been concealed there for years, unobscured by the 
dangerous darkness, the light of his life, the joy of 
all his hopes. Thus he dreamed as he neared his 
home, but as he approached the place a feeling of 
desolation filled the air : the yard was neglected, the 
garden overgrown with weeds, the breeze moaned 
among the old trees as if singing a hymn to death, 
and the old house, with its closed blinds, sadly looked 
down upon him as if weeping over buried hopes. 
The silence oppressed him, and he sat down upon the 
steps and contemplated the scene of desolation. He 
felt that he was kneeling at the sepulchre of the 
Pembroke family, and thronging in upon him came 
the voices of a line of ancestors two hundred and 
fifty years old and more : perhaps the ancestors them- 
selves were there, being attracted to the earthly home 
they loved so well by the misfortunes that had be- 
fallen it; perhaps they came to bid a fond adieu to 
the scenes of their former troubles, joys, hopes, and 
fears, before it became the abode of strangers ; per- 
haps to inspire their young kinsman with noble 
thoughts, and to guide him through the gloom that 
had taken possession of his soul, for voices from the 
other shore continually speak to us, and those who 
love us are always near. 

Richard saw the foot-prints of the mortgage : its 
pathway was a desolation ; it had performed its ap- 
pointed work ; the uplifted arm had delivered its fatal 
blow, and the wound pierced through the soul of this 
son and heir and filled it with bitter lamentations. 


PEACE, 


185 


And all this ruin — his father and mother reduced to 
beggary, their life’s labor wasted, their great struggle 
all in vain — because his grandfather did a generous 
act to help a friend in need. Not only the sins, he 
thought, but the misfortunes of one generation are 
visited upon those who follow after. 

Thinking to find his parents at the late home of 
his grandfather Leonard, now deceased, he hastened 
thither. In reaching the place he passed by the old 
home of Clare, the spot where he parted with her in 
the long ago, and here too was desolation ; the house 
tenantless, the fences fallen down, the windows 
broken, and he leaned upon the little gate contem- 
plating the scene, and became sick at heart. Could it 
be that the fatal impression was proving itself but 
the truth, and that Clare had escaped him forever ? 
The exultation and the joy he had felt at the thought 
of returning home had turned to sadness, and a feel- 
ing of despair crept over him ; but he hastened on to 
his parents, and the happiness at meeting them was 
beclouded by his gloomy forebodings, and he soon 
learned what he knew before, that the mortgage had 
been foreclosed, and the farm sold to satisfy and pay 
the debt. He found his father and mother cheerful, 
but their anxious, careworn faces told a tale of suffer- 
ing that their pleasant voices attempted to conceal. 

A few days at home and Lichard became restless 
and anxious to be again at work. A mountain stood 
before him. He must remove it, if by a grain at a 
time, and level it to the dust. A giant stood in his 
pathway, but he would drive it away inch by inch. 
He declared that Pembroke Place should be restored 
to the family, and that to accomplish this end he 
would devote his life. How strong he felt, how 


186 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


brave, how willing to labor. In all these dreams of 
restoring Pembroke to his family, Clare stood in the 
background, a prominent figure, and the memory of 
this little child gave tone to all his resolves. She 
was the fountain that fed his grand ambition to re- 
store the old home, for when restored he saw her fill- 
ing it with happiness, its hope and its pride. But 
where was Clare ? A pang shot through his heart ; 
his vision had vanished ; the future looked dark again. 
Where was Clare ? He saw her, a woman now, su- 
premely beautiful, but had she escaped him forever ? 
Did she belong to another ? He did not believe it, 
and yet the thought caused him the keenest pain. 
He would find her ; he would learn his fate ; she held 
his future in her keeping. The suspense was agony. 
He inquired of all his friends but could learn no tid- 
ings, not a word or a rumor concerning her whom he 
so madly sought. He began to think she was dead. 
Children often pass away, he thought, and leave no 
traces behind them but a nameless grave, and this 
would give him back no answer. Two great purposes 
now moved his life, controlled all his thoughts, and 
gave character to all his actions : he would solve the 
mystery of Clare ; he would find her if upon earth ; 
he would restore Pembroke Place. 

But how? Again he sought the counsel of Judge 
Kent as to what he should do. On his way to the 
city, all the time and everywhere, he looked for 
Clare. The Judge closed his advice by saying : “ I 
once counseled you to save Pembroke Place by the 
law, and I now say restore it to your family by the 
pursuit of the same profession.” Adopting this ad- 
vice and acting upon it, he then and there concluded 
to commence the study of the law, and made the 


PEACE. 


18T 


necessary arrangements to enter the office of the 
Judge at once. It was the first of June when he 
reached home from the war, and by the middle of the 
month he had entered upon the study of his profes- 
sion. 

The office of the J udge was situate in the heart of 
the city, and Richard procured a boarding-place near 
by, and commenced his life in Boston. Surrounded 
and enveloped by a seething mass of life, with its 
thronging thousands hurrying to and fro in the pur- 
suit of business or pleasure, — where all forms of life 
and thought are gathered together, the best and the 
worst, the most exalted and the most depraved, the 
purest and the most vile ; a great world within itself, 
where all humanity is fully represented, the richest 
and the poorest, the most learned and the most igno- 
rant ; where the wealth of a continent centres, and 
expands into magnificent temples, halls, and palaces, 
decorated with all the glories of godlike art, and 
where congregate the victims of squalid poverty, the 
devotees of debauchery, the accomplished villain, an 
army of murderers, thieves, and robbers ; where pass- 
ing and repassing and brushing each other’s garments 
are the beggar and the millionaire, the philosopher 
and the fool, the logician and the idiot, the Christian, 
Jew, and Gentile, the clergyman and the counter- 
feiter, the professor of the sciences and the pimps of 
the gambling-house, the virtuous and the fallen, the 
learned and the unlearned, — into this new world of 
life Richard plunged, to hew out for himself his des- 
tiny. 

But in this whirling ocean of humanity where 
should he search for his little school-girl? It was 
like looking for a grain of sand upon the sea-shore. 


188 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


The difficulties in the way of finding her had not 
been presented to his mind until he commenced the 
search, but upon reflection he discovered that he had 
no means whereby to trace her whereabouts. He 
knew no one who could give him any tidings of her. 
Her Petnbroke friends only knew that she removed 
to Boston in the autumn of 1861, nearly four years 
ago, and this he had already learned from her father 
on the fatal field of Five Forks. He felt it a sacred 
duty to find her, because he had been charged by her 
dead father to deliver a precious message to his fam- 
ily ; and not only was it his duty, but the thirsting 
longing love of his soul would give him no rest until 
the search was crowned with success. He addressed 
a letter to “ Miss Clare Lincoln, Boston,” and deliv- 
ered it at the post-office. It was not called for, and 
was advertised, but this brought no response. The 
difficulties surrounding the search deepened as time 
passed, yet he did not abate his efforts ; everywhere 
he went, whether for business or pleasure, he looked 
for her. It became the habit of his life. Would he 
recognize her? He knew he should, although four 
years had elapsed since last they met, and she then a 
little school-girl, and now a young lady in her nine- 
teenth year, — for who could mistake her fathomless 
eyes, or the expanding forehead that crowned with 
intellect her lovely face? No, years could not 
change her, and time would only cause to blossom 
into perfect beauty the budding flower of the years 
gone by. 

The impression that she was gone forever now 
and then haunted his life, and sometimes as the 
months passed by he became discouraged and dis- 
heartened, fearing that the child of his love had 


PEACE, 189 

flown beyond his reach, but never for an instant did 
he falter in his search. 

In these depressed moments his soul would experi- 
ence an agony of doubt. He would reflect and say : 
“ She is now a young lady, and what right have I 
to think she even remembers me ? Perhaps she is 
already a devoted wife, for her dazzling beauty, 
wherever she is, will bring to her an army of ad- 
mirers. She has no reason to suppose I love her, 
or even think of her at this time, for I onl}^ saw her 
as a little school-girl thirteen years old and she only 
saw me as her teacher, and thus but for a few days.” 

Thus he reasoned and thought at times, but gen- 
erally his faith was strong and abiding that he 
should find her, and free to be all his own. Sadly 
did he mourn over the loss of his dear old home and 
the misfortune that had befallen his parents ; but the 
disaster did not paralyze or appall him ; it only stim- 
ulated him to grander efforts, and he laid hold of 
Blackstone as if it were the lever, the instrument, 
by which he would overturn the mountain from Pem- 
broke Place. 

The friendship between Richard and John was of 
no ordinary character. The memories of boyhood 
bound them together, and those of a later day had 
added sanctity to the relation. Companions in many 
adventures and perils, — in the dungeon, upon the 
march, in the camp, and upon the field of death, — 
a relationship had been engendered between them 
stronger than the ties of blood, and which made 
them more than brothers. Noble deeds are always 
akin ; good thoughts are ever of the same family ; 
and such deeds and thoughts enacted side by side in 
the same great cause beget a feeling of brotherhood 


190 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


and affection that endures forever. And thus is hu- 
manity bound together. All the virtue, all the no- 
bility of one age, is but the companion, the parent, 
the friend of its offspring in the age succeeding. 

Richard and John are brothers still ; they are each 
suffering a kindred trouble ; a like feeling in their 
hearts attracts them to each other. Kate, though 
desperately sought, is still unfound. Her lover had 
made inquiries everywhere but all in vain. Strong 
and hopeful, he is not depressed or discouraged. 

John entered the employment of a mercantile 
house in the city, and became a commercial traveler 
with the avowed purpose of searching for his Kate. 
All his friends knew his troubles, while Richard 
brooded over his in silence. He was generally hope- 
ful and his perseverance never faltered, but was quiet 
and undemonstrative ; while John, equally hopeful 
and courageous, was noisy, sanguine, and boisterous. 
Both love with the ardor and depth of noble, gener- 
ous hearts ; and while the one worships on in silence, 
the other, equally devoted and equally faithful, cannot 
conceal his adoration ; one would suffer and not com- 
plain while the other could not ; one could trust and 
hope, communing only with himself, while the other 
must tell his hopes and fears to his companions. 

Mysterious are the moulds that shape our thoughts ; 
infinite in form, infinite in expression, infinite in va- 
riety ; ever the same yet ever changing ; ever old yet 
new forever. Behold the Omniscient Mind who alone 
could conceive and create this infinite variety. 


MEETING OF THE RIVALS. 


191 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MEETING OF THE KIVALS. 

The time, June, 1865 ; the place, the office of 
Judge Kent. 

Here Richard and Stacy met for the first time. 
They were dissimilar in every trait of character, and 
represented the antipodes of humanity. The one be- 
held the divinity of life, its surpassing grandeur and 
beauty, while the other saw only himself, and sup- 
posed the rest of mankind created expressly that his 
evil genius might have something to practice upon. 
They met as law students, the one at the com- 
mencement and the other nearing the end of the 
journey, and their conversations, their actions, and 
their lives demonstrated that they were, and always 
would remain, opposed to each other. They were 
natural, inborn, inherent enemies, rendered so by the 
eternal laws that govern the moral world. Stacy 
looked upon himself as knowing all the law, having 
been in the office for two years, and he assumed an 
air of superiority when conversing with Richard. 
For six weeks Richard had been laboriously at work 
on the first few hundred pages of Blackstone, when 
Stacy accosted him, and said, — 

“ What, still grinding away upon the first book of 
Blackstone ? You have a greater affection for that 
author than I had.'’ 

Richard. “ I mean to conquer the work by slow 
approaches.” 


192 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Stacy. “ That may be a good rule in war, but I had 
rummaged Blackstone and Kent before I had been in 
the office as long as you have.” 

Richard. “ Very likely, but I am not Jiere to rum- 
mage law books. A smattering of the law is a dan- 
gerous thing to any man. Drink deep or taste not. 
Would you undertake to put a roof on the house you 
were building before you have even commenced to 
lay the foundation ? ” 

Stacy. “ I have never been engaged in that kind of 
business, as I presume you have by your assuming 
to know so much of the trade ; but spending that 
amount of time over the dry learning of Blackstone, 
when do you expect to get through with that case of 
books?” 

Richard. “ When I get through with them I mean 
to know something of what they contain. Get 
through with them ! A lawyer never gets through 
with his books ; and as to the dry learning, it is but 
the seed, and the coming years will produce the fruits 
thereof. Rummaging a hundred volumes, as you call 
it, would not give one as much knowledge as learning 
one. It would display a lack of skill and military 
ability if a general, in penetrating an enemy’s country 
with an army, should march by or around strong 
forts and citadels leaving them in the rear filled 
with hostile soldiers and uncaptured. In such a case, 
very likely, his supplies would be cut off, his lines of 
communication broken, and he would be compelled 
to make a disastrous retreat, — simply because he had 
not cleared the country as he penetrated it. And so 
in conquering a profession, or even a book, if we 
hurry by, or go around principles we do not com- 
prehend or understand, we shall find ourselves cut 


MEETING OF THE RIVALS. 


193 


off from our base of supplies, floundering in an un- 
known^ country, beset with difl&culties upon every 
hand, an enemy behind harassing and distressing 
us, and defeat would be the certain result ; while if 
we conquer every principle as we proceed, leaving no 
troublesome enemy in Ihe rear, victory is assured be- 
fore even the campaign is commenced. I am com- 
mencing the conquest of the law. Blackstone is the 
first citadel I must capture, the first enemy I must 
overcome ; and if I leave it behind to send out its 
forces to harass and worry me, what hope can I have 
of making a successful charge upon Kent, Story, 
Starkie, Phillips, or Greenleaf ? Blackstone is the 
strongest fortification, and commands all the others, 
and the city. If I can storm this fort ; if I can sap 
and mine it by slow approaches, and secure the cap- 
ture, and am strong enough to hold it, I am then 
master of the situation : its guns cover every other 
stronghold. But if I leave this uncaptured, other 
petty conquests are of no consequence while under 
its guns. So I shall master Blackstone or abandon 
the field ; if too weak to storm the citadel of the law 
and hold the conquest, then I will surrender.” 

Stacy, “ You are extremely enthusiastic, and talk 
very much like a young miss fresh from boarding- 
school.” 

Richard, “Very likely, but give me the credit of 
talking pretty much as I feel.” 

Stacy, “ After your school-boy harangue, give me 
an opportunity to say one word without interruption. 
Suppose you do master Blackstone and all the other 
books, then nine chances to ten you will get no busi- 
ness for your pains. Men love to be humbugged ; 
this I have learned, and it is something worth know- 


194 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


ing ; therefore it is that a very superficial knowledge 
of the law answers every purpose, and often brings 
more business and more money than profound learn- 
ing. A surface knowledge of the law is sufficient 
for my purposes at least, and I will make more 
money by my knowledge than you by yours, even if 
you master all the books you name. Do you not 
know that the lawyers who make the money scarcely 
ever look at their books ? They do it by operating 
on the outside, b}^ hunting up and working up cases, 
and if the bookworms do have to draw the papers, 
the operators get the lion’s share of the spoils and all 
the glory.” 

Richard. “ Then you are content to be a lawyer’s 
lackey, the lawyer to furnish the brains and you to do 
the menial service, while I would be at the head of 
the profession or abandon it altogether. I will not be 
a lawyer’s clerk ; and as for these outside operators, 
these fellows who go mousing about the country stir- 
ring up or hunting up lawsuits for a percentage upon 
the spoils, as ytui call it, I despise them, for they are 
generally dishonest, unprincipled knaves. Business 
must seek me in my office. I shall not run after it.” 

Stacy. “ The men whom you sneeringly denomi- 
nate lackeys, the men who by their sharpness and 
cunning make the money, are in my opinion at the 
head of the profession. I have known men who 
understood very little law, who had left the citadels, 
as you call them, all uncaptured, but who had good 
sharp eyes and ears, who by listening and watching, 
and knowing the ins and the outs of business, become 
possessed of a state of facts that require thousands 
of dollars to compass their silence ; and I have seen 
them rake up lawsuits that involved rich estates, a 


MEETING OF THE RIVALS. 


195 

flaw ill a title, a lost heir found and kept in the dark, 
a will discovered or skillfully forged, a defect in a 
deed overlooked or forgotten, a contract misplaced, 
an important witness brought forward or concealed in 
the nick of time, or a witness manufactured for the 
occasion by the use of a few dollars adroitly applied, — 
the men who are shrewd enough and sharp enough to 
do all these things and succeed are my ideals of great 
lawyers, and it does not require the capture of many 
citadels to become an expert in this branch of the 
practice. The science of the law is a myth, and the 
more one studies it the less he understands it ; it is 
full of technicalities and quibbles, designed to cheat 
and to deceive, and if one is inclined to be honest, 
this noble science will teach him how to steal. There 
is nothing stable and certain about it ; its decisions 
are as variable as the wind, and the man with the 
longest purse generally wins. I have seen poor 
scoundrels plunged into prison, while rich ones, guilty 
of similar offences, have gone unpunished. Yea more. 
I have seen the poor murderer hung, while the one 
with plenty of money not only escapes all punish- 
ment but becomes the pet of society. Then don’t 
talk to me any more of the law being an exact science 
that secures justice to all men. It is an instrument 
of injustice, and I mean to take advantage of this to 
make money, for money, after all, is the god that 
rules the world.” 

Richard, “ Any man can be a thief if he feels so 
inclined : why do you not turn highway robber at 
once ? It is true enough that the law administered by 
one of your ideal lawyers would become the infamous 
instrument you believe it to be, and would prostitute 
itself to the lowest uses, because your lawyer or your 


196 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


judge would barter bis soul and his judgment for 
money, but in that case the crime would belong to 
the man and not to the law. And it is not true that 
the man with the money generally wins the case; 
neither do murderers generally go unhung ; and when 
they do, the testimony that saves them from just pun- 
ishment is probably procured by one of your model 
lawyers by the use of money. The whole truth of 
the matter is this : that the law may be put to bad 
uses by bad men like your ideals ; designing villains 
may by perjury and fraud make it the instrument of 
wrong ; but to say that such great judges as Marshall, 
Story, Taney, or Chase, and a thousand others like 
them, could have been influenced in their decisions by 
the use of money, or that they denied rights to the 
poor and wrongfully decided for the rich, or that 
their decisions are trifling and changeable, is a libel 
upon the profession and an insult to honesty. And 
it is not true that the study of the law makes men 
dishonest, or that its tendency is in that direction. 
On the contrary, it teaches the purest principles of 
justice. The very first principle that a law student 
learns is that law is right reason, and that it is a rule 
of civil conduct prescribed by the supreme power of 
the State commanding what is right and prohibiting 
what is wrong ; and every maxim of the law is of like 
character, and their study necessarily expands and en- 
larges the mind, and the quibbles and technicalities 
you spoke of are simply safeguards thrown around the 
law to protect the innocent from the trickery of the 
knave, from the plots of your model lawyers.” 

Stacy. “ You do not seem to comprehend what I 
mean by a great lawyer. I measure men by the suc- 
cess they achieve. A man may be ever so great a 


MEETING OF THE RIVALS. 


197 


genius or ever so learned, yet if he brings nothing 
to pass he is a failure. What does genius or talent 
amount to if it spends its time in visionary nonsense, 
and does not march forward to success ? And what 
is success ? How shall we measure a successful life ? 
My standard is this, and I obtain it by looking at so- 
ciety : The successful man is he who amasses wealth, 
and society does not question the means resorted to 
to obtain it. A man may be ever so wise, his mind 
may be adorned with the treasures of all the books, 
he may be surcharged with all the noble principles 
you name, and if he is poor and does not dress in 
style he is a cipher in society. And hence I measure 
the successful lawyer by the money he gets together, 
for money is influence, money is power. Thus speaks 
society, and I adapt my notions to suit the circum- 
stances that surround me, and say that the acquisition 
of money is my highest end and aim, because of the 
position and standing money will give me. Money is 
the power behind the throne ; it makes men respect- 
able ; it makes them good, as society views goodness 
and respectability. The man is nothing and money 
is everything. Then why not acquire this potential 
power, the glitter and sparkle of which swallows up 
the man and makes him a cipher ? ” 

Richard. “ Your standard of success is a base one, 
and if it is the standard of society then society is de- 
based and needs reform. How did we become pos- 
sessed of the great principles that crown our law, our 
literature, our science ? They are our legacies trans- 
mitted to us from patient lives of labor. The man 
who spends a life in bringing to light a truth or a 
principle, and applies it to use in alleviating the woes 
or in enhancing the prosperity of mankind, is a bene- 


198 CLARE LINCOLN. 

factor to his race, and if he dies in poverty his life is 
none the less a success. And there is more pleasure 
in one good thought than in a bank of money ; there 
is more genuine happiness in an unostentatious act of 
charity by the poor man than in all the gaudy dis- 
plays of wealth ; it blesses him who gives and him 
who receives ; and there may be more enjoyment 
around a humble fireside of poverty than in a palace 
of riches. There are many things money cannot buy. 
It cannot bring contentment ; it cannot purchase a 
thankful heart, an upright mind, or a peaceful con- 
science ; these are treasures entirely beyond the reach 
of gold, so that one may be ever so rich and still poor 
indeed if he has not these treasures that riches cannot 
buy, and over which money has no control. Then 
my ideal of the successful man is this : he who thinks 
good thoughts and does good deeds, to the end that 
his mind is expanded, his heart enlarged, his con- 
science satisfied, making himself happy by bringing 
happiness to others, so that when he dies his name 
will be cherished and revered because a good man 
has passed away ; and if the pampered abodes of 
wealth despise such a life as this, because perchance 
it is clothed in the habiliments of poverty, then in- 
deed does society need reform. And instead of 
moulding my life to conform to the debauched ideas 
that surround me, and thereby become myself de- 
graded and fallen, I will work and labor with my 
might and my strength to cause better ideas to pre- 
vail.” 

Stacy, ‘‘ I indulge in no idle dreams as to what so- 
ciety might be or should be, but deal with it as it is 
and am content. And it is clear to the dullest com- 
prehension that gold, instead of goodness, assigns to 


MEETING OF THE RIVALS. 


199 


men their positions in society. The social fabric rep- 
resents a pyramid, broad at the base and gradually 
tapering to a point, and around this structure there 
are circles, and men walk in the circle, — the inclos- 
ure to which they are assigned, — according to the 
amount of money they possess. The broad base rests 
in poverty, while the men who have a little money 
are not so many and the circle is contracted ; those 
who have a little more are still less, and so the pyra- 
mid is formed, until at the apex there can stand a 
very small number, and they are millionaires. And 
thus society is divided into classes resembling the 
castes of Eastern Civilization, and it is just as impos- 
sible for the people of a lower class to have social in- 
tercourse with those of a higher grade here in free 
America as it is in India ; it is just as impossible for 
poverty to be on an equality with wealth as that fire 
and water should have an affinity for each other. It 
is utterly impossible for a man with five hundred a 
year to become the social equal, or to have social in- 
tercourse with the man of ten thousand a year ; and 
the ten thousand man is assigned a back seat when in 
the presence of the twenty thousand man, if he can 
approach his presence at all, and so upward to the 
apex of the pyramid. Not only this, but wealth 
brings influence, power, friends, while learned pov- 
erty is naught. I have seen ignorant, debauched, 
wicked men become suddenly rich, and society, shut- 
ting its eyes to everything but the money, fawns 
around and worships them, while it neglects and de- 
spises the learned philosopher, if in rags. Now let 
us take your ideal man, — learned, virtuous, noble, 
good, leading a beautiful life, but poor ; and take an- 
other man the like of whom I could name a hundred. 


200 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


drunken, vicious, vdcked, whose morality is corrup- 
tion, whose virtue is license, whose whole life is de- 
pra’^ity, but who has coined much gold from the wants 
and necessities of his fellow-men, and is rich, and place 
these two men in society, and what is the result ? The 
rich man is looked up to, sought after, aped and 
petted, while the poor one is assigned to forgetfulness 
and oblivion. And it does not matter in the least 
hOw the money is obtained, for it is the money, and 
not the man, that brings the influence and is wor- 
shiped. The successful robber and the adroit thief 
take their places according to the amount of money 
they have filched from others, and society bows obse- 
quiously to a knave or a fool, to an ignoramus or a vil- 
lain, providing he is rich, while it turns away its head 
in disgust and brushes quickly past the beautiful life 
if in poverty. All this teaches me that in our fallen 
condition money is power, and I mean to take the 
benefit of the fall. Money is power ; indeed it is all 
powerful ; it can buy reputation, it can purchase in- 
fluence, sympathy, affection ; it can silence the pricks 
and the stings of an outraged conscience ; it can buy 
office, position, and dignity ; it gives social standing 
and an army of followers, lackeys as you call them, 
and a man feels his importance, and that he is of 
some consequence in the world. This is the condition 
of society, and I do not propose to reform it, but will 
take advantage of the state of things that exist. I 
find that money is the one thing needful, and money I 
will have. And I can get it by dabbling in the dark- 
ened ways of the law, and society will open wide its 
gates to me if I bring in my pockets plenty of gold, 
no matter if my soul is covered with filth, and my 
hands stained with blood. What there is in the 


MEETING OF THE RIVALS. 


201 


purse, and not what there is in the head, gives one 
a place in the social pyramid, and I mean to fill my 
pockets and take one of the higher circles, — perhaps 
I can reach the highest. These things do not depend 
upon the life we lead, but are the creatures of acci- 
dent, shrewdness, and speculation. An accidental 
money king takes his place by the side of him who in- 
herited his aristocracy and his gold. So success in life 
means money, and your beautiful theories are mere 
moonshine and utterly impracticable. They do not 
count in society ; they are of no weight or dignity ; 
they are feathers light as air and fail in the trying 
hour.” 

Richard. “If you put in practice what you preach, 
if you are sincere in what you profess to believe, then 
you are lost. You are liable to, and very probably 
will become a villain, a desperado of the very darkest 
character.” 

For these debased and distorted ideas and thoughts 
of this young man society is responsible, and if he is 
led to a life of vice and crime, — if in his struggles to 
achieve success, as he conceives it, he falls, and is 
tempted into the ways of darkness and death ; if he 
worships the god of wealth, and sacrifices his soul and 
his life upon its unholy altars, — you, Mr. A., purse- 
proud and arrogant, with your contempt for the poor, 
with your detestable exclusiveness, with your narrow- 
minded fear that you may waive rank by speaking a 
good word to one you think of lower degree than 
yourself; and you, Mrs. B., aristocratic and disdainful, 
proud and imperious, arrayed in your silks and satins, 
who turn your head in horror and brush spitefully 
past your neighbor if dressed in coarser garments than 


202 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


your own, and who talk continually of your circle, 
your class, and your society, as if the Almighty Lord 
had created your narrow soul of finer material than 
that of the great mass of humanity ; and you the fools, 
the weak-minded, and the fawning, — you the slaves, 
who glory in servitude to pampered wealth and pride, 
who follow after, frisk about, and servilely court the 
favor of the Mr. A.’s and the Mrs. B.’s, — are the au- 
thors of the darkened and vicious ideas of this young 
man ; you are the creators of this ruin, the builders of 
this soiled temple, wherein dwells a soul putrid with 
corruption ; from you he has learned his ideas of life 
and duty, and because of you he will hurry on to his 
doom. 

Society seems to be formed and maintained as if 
the Almighty had infused into some of our veins royal 
blood while all the others were mere plebeians, second- 
class articles, of inferior quality, and we forget that 
of one blood have been created all the people and 
nations of the earth. In our unscrupulous struggle 
for wealth, position, and influence, we compromise the 
Great Creator and make Him as contemptible as our- 
selves. Every fungus growth of aristocracy, every 
feeling that creates social castes, circles, and classes, 
because of temporary circumstances and conditions, 
every action and every thought that denies the Broth- 
erhood of Man, is also a denial of the Fatherhood of 
God, and by our actions, thoughts, and feelings do we 
belittle the Author of our being, until He becomes 
like ourselves, narrow-minded, haughty, and proud. 


REVENGE. 


203 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

REVENGE. 

Clare and the Doctor had been absent from home 
on their European tour but four weeks when Stacy 
received the Doctor’s fatal letter. Its reception, at 
one fell blow, dashed to the ground his brightest 
hopes, and from their blackened ashes sprang the 
germ of sweet revenge. It was the only plant that 
could grow in the desert of his soul, and it sprang 
up in a night to darken his already depraved life. He 
had looked upon the prize as already won. “ Ever- 
green Home ” was already his in anticipation, and he 
had built many castles in the air, in contemplating 
the influence and the position the ownership of this 
property would bring him. He would rise at one 
bound to the topmost circle in the social fabric. He 
was joyful and happy at his easy victory. Self-satis- 
fied beyond measure at his adroitness in winning 
Clare, he already began to assume the haughty arro- 
gance he would soon practice when the real prize was 
his in fact. What was plodding Richard now ? He 
looked upon him with contempt. His books were 
more distasteful to him than ever. He despised the 
thought of labor and toil. He looked upon those who 
were compelled to work for their bread as utterly 
beneath his notice. 

It was morning in the office of J udge Kent, — Rich- 
ard engaged with his books, and Stacy writing a let- 


204 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


ter. Neither of them knew that the other had any 
knowledge of Clare. They kept their own secrets. 
Unknown to each other and in silence they both 
dreamed of the fisherman’s daughter : the one inspired 
by holy love, the other by unholy ambition ; the one 
as of a beautiful vision of the long ago, perhaps lost 
to him now forever ; the other with the courage of 
success near at hand, and fond anticipations ready to 
be realized. Opposed to each other in all their ideas 
of life, morality, and duty, — natural enemies in every- 
thing, — it was well that their dreams did not blend 
and reveal themselves to each other. 

And now Stacy’s letter was nearly finished. He 
had written Clare. Clothed in beautiful language, 
expressing the burning words of love and adoration, 
his utter loneliness and dejection since her departure, 
he declared that with her he could and would be 
happy even if in poverty and want ; that she would 
beautify a hut or adorn a palace, and that without 
her life would be distasteful even if surrounded by all 
the splendors of wealth and culture. At this point 
the postman came with a letter for him. He leisurely 
opened it, not suspecting from whom it came, and 
read. He turned pale. Great drops of perspiration 
appeared upon his face. He choked with rage, and 
then became flushed and excited. He arose and 
paced the room to conceal his agitation. The blood 
coursing like lightning through his veins, was on Are, 
and the direful flame, as if in the very wantonness of 
fury, was consuming his brightest hopes and his most 
sacred treasures. He was appalled at the dreadful 
calamity, and for a moment paralyzed as by the stroke 
of death. His eyes glared, his lips quivered and 
twitched, his whole frame trembled as if in a fearful 


REVENGE. 


205 


oonvulsion. The spasm of rage passed away, and his 
first act was to rend into a thousand pieces the letter 
he had been writing. The castles had fallen ; the 
ruin was complete. Fire, tornado, and earthquake 
could not have added to the desolation. He felt 
humiliated. His hopes were blasted; his visions of 
greatness were but idle dreams ; vanity of vanities ; 
dust and dross. Wounded and bleeding he cried out 
in his agony : “ Oh, I had so loved and trusted her. 
I had given her my heart and my hand. Did I not 
in her presence and on my knees dedicate my life to 
her ? Oh, the depravity of human nature ! Oh, the 
falsehood of woman ! What has become of my for- 
tune? The horrors of poverty are mine. But the 
girl ! the girl ! False, perjured, depraved ! Revenge, 
sweet revenge, shall heal the wounds of this terrible 
hour.” 

And thus ever does the guilty conscience accuse 
the innocent to relieve itself. Hear Stacy rave of 
falsehood, perjury, and depravity, as if he was the in- 
nocent and the injured. He knew in his heart that 
he was a villain, but the instant he was exposed he 
put on the air of injured virtue, and this is the man- 
ner and the habit of crime. He assumed to feel most 
deeply Clare’s perfidy, while he alone was perfidious 
and she as pure as a ray of light; and after the 
storm of his passion had so far abated as to enable 
him to calmly think, his feelings settled down to in- 
tense hatred, and his thoughts hurried away into the 
maze of darkness seeking the means of revenge. To 
his exalted ideas of right and wrong, he had been 
cruelly injured, insulted, and misused ; he had been 
robbed of a fortune, and thrust back into the haunts 
of poverty by the plottings of an old man and the 


206 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


falsehood of a girl he had picked up on the way-side, 
who were now reveling in wealth, and sweet revenge 
should be his. They shall be hauled down from their 
exalted positions ; they shall become beggars, and he, 
William Stacy, will have their home and their wealth. 
This was the project his ocean of hatred and his 
wicked ambition brought to view. This scheme of 
robbery should satisfy his revenge, should repay him 
for the infamous refusal of his proposal of marriage, 
should give him a fortune and assure his place in so- 
ciety. 

“ Ha, ha ! Old man, we will see whether my visits 
at ‘ Evergreen Home ’ are at an end. Who shall 
prevent my going there while you are in Europe ? 
W e will see about your insulting taunts of hypocrisy. 
Brag about your fortune will you, and boast that it 
will never belong to William Stacy. Yes, time is the 
revealer. You said that to your ‘ child,’ and I say so 
too. It will make a strange revelation to you. It 
will place your fortune in the pockets of William 
Stacy, notwithstanding your boasts. But how shall 
this thing be accomplished? It is an undertaking 
worthy of a giant. They are rich and powerful ; they 
have hosts of friends, and can command the best 
talent in the country, and how to triumph over all is 
the question ? To be rich, or not to be at all, is my 
motto. And I, a pettifogger, as they would call me, 
poor and without influence? The idea of possessing 
their home and fortune and sending them to ruin is 
a bold one, and of itself augurs success. Its very 
conception shows fruitful resources and greatness of 
thought, and the means to the end will not fail. Re- 
venge quickens the mind; it is full of expedients, 
and I will show them that a pettifogger is a power in 
the land.” 


REVENGE. 


207 


The idea of robbing Doctor Hume, of “ Evergreen 
Home,” and of possessing his fortune, took full pos- 
session of him. The Doctor was to be absent for 
some time, and the opportunity for accomplishing the 
dastardly scheme was not wanting. Clare had de- 
frauded him of the Doctor’s fortune, and he would 
recover it ; and as the murderer is ever impelled by 
irresistible fate to return to the scene of his crime, 
and revolves around and around it in an endless cir- 
cle when he attempts to flee, so Stacy’s mind would 
ever return to this one thought, and it became the 
controlling power of his life. He studied upon this 
scheme long and well, and his first thought was that 
whatever he did must be kept a profound secret until 
the plot was fully perfected in all its minutest rami- 
fications and winding ways, and when thus completed, 
and armed at every point, he would make the attack 
with a grand flourish of trumpets doubly assured of 
success. 

He had now been in the office of Judge Kent for 
two years, and could be admitted to the Bar. In 
working up his plans of capture and robbery he de- 
sired to be alone and where he could command his 
own actions and conceal all his thoughts, and to this 
end was admitted to the Bar, left the office of the 
Judge, established himself in an office of his own, 
and published himself a lawyer. Then the plotting 
and the planning commenced with renewed vigor. 
Alone, all by himself, he threaded the evil ways of 
corruption and crime. He first examined the title of 
Doctor Hume, as the same appeared in the public 
records ; he spent days and days in tracing the title 
to the property back to a remote period, but found 
it perfect. He made himself acquainted with the 


208 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


names of the families of the owners for many years, 
to discover if possible a broken link in the chain, but 
his efforts were unavailing ; the Doctor’s title was 
beyond question, an earthquake could not shake it. 

He was baffled ; he had spent six months of labor 
and made no progress ; his assaults upon “ Evergreen 
Home ” had been perfectly harmless and futile. His 
resources were exhausted. Every scheme had failed. 
The lion was at bay. He was frenzied and enraged. 
The constant, continued dwelling upon his fraudulent 
plans and criminal designs had hardened him, and he 
felt capable of committing any deed to accomplish his 
end.^Bad thoughts harden the conscience and pave 
the way for bad actions. A scheme conceived in fraud 
maybe accomplished in crime. There is a regular pro- 
gression in villainy, irresistible as fate ; and Stacy had 
commenced the downward road, he had entered upon 
the fatal pathway, and his conceptions of society and 
the rights of men afforded no checks or restraints to 
impede his course. 

Thus far, although his efforts have been vain, he is 
not discouraged. After much thought on the subject 
and many misgivings, he concluded to take some one 
into his company ; he must have a partner, but whom 
can he trust ? to whom can he confide his great pro- 
ject? The idea of a partner troubled and worried 
him; a joint proprietor and owner with him in ‘‘Ever- 
green Home ” would not be pleasant ; he would have 
all the property himself, but he felt the need of help ; 
he had exhausted himself, and accomplished nothing ; 
he must, therefore, select some man whose head had 
grown gray in traveling the troubled road of dis- 
honesty and deceit, who had become hardened in 
crime, to help him. Necessity compelled, and he 
must divide the fortune or lose the whole. 


REVENGE. 


209 


After all he abandoned this purpose and thought 
of others. The Doctor was quite aged, and perhaps 
he could wait until his death, and then by a bold 
crime accomplish his object ; yet the criminal is ever 
impatient ; he cannot wait, and so he gave up this 
thought and conceived of others still more revolting, 
and thus inconstant ever are the projectors of crime. 
Their plans are always defective, because the con- 
ception of crime so appalls the reason and the judg- 
ment that they become partially paralyzed and fail 
to perform their usual functions. And this also ac- 
counts for the weak, inefficient, even foolish means 
resorted to by criminals to effect their escape, or to 
conceal their crimes after the commission of the act. 
The criminal deed beclouds and benumbs the intellect, 
and the criminal flees hither and thither, driven on 
by his fears, bewildered, lost in the whirlpool of guilt, 
crazed by the upbraidings of conscience. Up to, and 
including the commission of the crime, their plans 
may sometimes be characterized by consummate skill, 
and without a flaw or defect ; but the instant the fatal 
blow is given their minds are so appalled that they 
cannot think, and their plans of escape demonstrate 
the ruin that has befallen them. An inevitable, irre- 
sistible fate follows and drives them to their doom. 
Even if the crime is concealed in the breast of the 
criminal, and no suspicions or circumstances point to- 
wards him, yet the terrible secret impels him to his 
fate, and sooner or later he confesses, and is executed, 
rather than be harassed by the grim enemy that 
renders life a burden. There is no peace for the 
wicked. The guilty flee when no man pursues. Every 
sound startles them ; they are afraid of their own 
thoughts ; they fear the winds and the trees ; they 


210 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


tremble lest the blocks and the stones rise up and 
whisper the story of their crimes. Time does not 
heal the upbraidings of conscience ; years will not 
quiet or calm it. The victim may struggle with it 
through dreary months and years, but sooner or later 
the tribunal of his soul will be satisfied by confession 
and punishment, and if the State fails to mete out jus- 
tice, the victim will himself punish his own crime. 
Self-destruction is many times a silent confession of 
murder ; suicide is often but a confession, and a con- 
fession when no one accuses. Even a charge of crime 
upon an innocent person often works strange results. 
Mysterious are the influences that control our lives ; 
we are weak where we supposed we would be strong, 
and strong where we expected to be weak. Strong, 
brave men are sometimes paralyzed with fear where 
weak, feeble women are nerved to sublime courage. 
Mysterious are the influences that mould our desti- 
nies. It is a remarkable fact that innocent, sane men 
charged with murder have, after great deliberation, 
confessed the crime, giving a minute account of how 
the deed was committed, and the motive and reason 
therefor, and have been executed, when in truth and 
fact there had been no murder, when they were en- 
tirely innocent, and when, afterwards, the supposed 
victim appeared in court, living and well, to conclu- 
sively prove the confession untrue. Fearful is the 
ruin that crime brings upon its perpetrator, and some- 
times equally ruinous is the charge thereof upon an 
innocent person. 

Stacy was in the whirlpool of fraud and corrup- 
tion. He had entered upon a scheme that mastered 
him, but his thoughts were as variable as the winds. 


REVENGE. 


211 


and he conceived of one project but to abandon it 
to take up another. At last he concluded to court 
the friendship of Uncle George or Cicero, hoping 
thereby to make them his instruments to aid in his 
plans to obtain possession of “ Evergreen Home.” 

And with this thought in his distracted mind he 
wandered out into the labyrinth of night, into the 
interminable maze of intrigue, fraud, and villainy. 


212 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


CHAPTER XIX. 

POPPER AND SHARP, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. 

In one of the back alleys of the city, where the 
buildings are old and fallen down, and the tenants 
are clothed in rags and filth, and pay their rents to 
Bowker, — where gaunt poverty stalks abroad at 
noonday, the haunt of fallen virtue and drunken de- 
bauchery, the den of vice and crime; where conta- 
gious diseases ever find a home and victims, and where 
the squalid people crawl out of their abodes of death 
and despair into the sunshine, and gaze with stolid 
stupidity upon every passer-by, as the reptile sallies 
forth from its retreat and lays in wait for its unsus- 
pecting victim, — upon this alley, the highway to 
death and perdition, on a dilapidated building with 
broken windows and crazy shutters, there hangs a 
weather-beaten sign in faded yellow and green letters, 
as follows : “ Popper and Sharp, Attorneys at 
Law.” How long it had hung there no one could 
tell, but it was worn and warped, — warped and bent, 
as if it would fold together and hide the great false- 
hood it had so long published, — and it creaked upon 
its hinges as if moaning with pain. 

Entering the building and climbing a narrow, dark- 
ened stair-way, and passing from thence into a hall, 
and thence up another staircase narrower and darker 
than the other, you at last reached a door upon 
which there was a repetition of the sign below, ex- 


POPPER AND SHARP, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. 213 

cepting that it was not so warped and worn, perhaps 
for the reason that being pretty much concealed it 
felt it was doing less injury. Opening the door you 
entered a room which was lighted by one small win- 
dow, blinded and darkened with cobwebs and dirt, 
and you were in the presence of the law firm whose 
characteristic names adorn the weather-beaten sign 
upon the street. It was well that the friendly sign 
denominated this room a law ofiice, for otherwise it 
might have been taken for a garret, where was 
stowed away worn-out furniture and cast off gar- 
ments. In the centre of the room stood a large, 
circular wooden table, covered with a faded green 
cloth, ink-blotted, dusty, and worn, upon which 
rested an old criminal form book, soiled and shabby, 
a dirty inkstand, and a few sheets of legal cap paper. 
At the side of the room there was a settle or wooden 
seat with a high back, notched and scarred, and used 
alternately as a waiting-place for anxious clients, and 
where the tired counselor sought repose after the 
fatigues of the day were over. In a darkened cor- 
ner stood an open book-case, where reposed in undis- 
turbed peace and quietude a few volumes of very old 
law books, covered with dust from nonuse, — silent 
witnesses testifying to the ignorance of their owners, — 
in one apartment of which there were a few pigeon- 
holes filled with useless trumpery, and here and there 
a wooden chair scattered about completed the in- 
ventory. This front office seemed to be the recep- 
tion room, for opening out of it to the right there 
was another of like character, except that it was de- 
nominated by a small sign over the door, “ Consul- 
tation Room,’^ as if from the lowest deep there was 
another still deeper, opening wide its insatiate mouth 


214 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


for food. This room seemed to be the inner sanctu- 
ary of the establishment, the altar whereon the vic- 
tim was sacrificed — the outer room being used only 
to prepare the way to it, — for the door as it closed 
upon the outside world fastened with a spring lock, 
and could only be opened by a key ; so that the un- 
fortunate client, wishing for counsel, was compelled 
to receive just as much as the counselor wished to 
bestow, and of the kind he saw proper to give. 
There was no retreat, no escape. Indeed it was an 
altar of sacrifice, as many one could testify who had 
been seduced to pass the threshold of the inner sanc- 
tuary. 

And this was the place of business of Popper and 
Sharp, attorneys at law ; and if their office looked like 
a prison or a dungeon, it was entirely appropriate, for 
to the clients who generally entered it this appearance 
gave to the place a familiar, homelike air, yet it was 
called a law office, and here the firm plied their trade. 
Perhaps an introduction to these so-called lawyers 
would be in order, for they were of the class of legal 
gentlemen whom Stacy would denominate the shining 
lights of the profession. They were the outside oper- 
ators, and their weather-beaten sign had for years 
served as a cloak or a shield to conceal the nature and 
character of their operations. They walked in the 
troubled, blackened, winding ways of business, in the 
filthy by-ways of corruption and crime ; and when 
darkness had spread its friendly mantle over the earth, 
protecting the rogue, the villain, and the thief, they 
were busiest and most active. They were night cor- 
morants preying upon society when disarmed by re- 
pose, and in the light of day retired to their holes and 
covered up their tracks, or put on the appearance of 


POPPER AND SHARP, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. 215 

respectability and appeared among decent men ; but 
their false pretenses did not deceive many, for the 
intelligent put them where they belonged, among the 
reptiles of the law. When with lawyers they looked 
wise and were silent, for in silence there was safety ; 
but when among unprofessional men and their own 
companions, they were loud and noisy in declaring 
the law upon any given subject, in boasting of the 
remarkable feats they had performed in the courts, 
and how they had won many a signal victory in the 
forensic field by their superior legal knowledge, and 
this is the manner and the habit of pettifogging shys- 
ters the world over. Before the learned they were 
dumb, but with the ignorant, where they generally 
were, and where they always belonged, they pro- 
claimed their own wisdom and exalted their own vir- 
tues, until it came to pass, as it has before and will 
again, that sounding their own fulsome praises 
brought them followers, and caused them to be first 
in the group of depravity by which they were sur- 
rounded. 

As these so-called lawyers unexpectedly managed 
to have more or less to do with the history of 
some of our characters, perhaps a more intimate ac- 
quaintance would be agreeable ; if so, here is a pres- 
entation to Mr. Popper individually. His Christian 
name was Sharp, while that of his partner was Popper ; 
and when the firm wrote its name in full, as they did 
upon solemn and weighty occasions, it was “ Sharp 
Popper and Popper ^harp, Attorneys at Law.” 
Whether the remarkable fact that the first name of 
the one was the last name of the other and vice versa 
early attracted them to each other, or whether it 
came from the more mighty power that causes birds 


216 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


of a feather to flock together, does not matter ; but cer- 
tain it is that early in life they found each other, and 
had remained together as trusted partners ever since 
that period, now years ago. Popper was a short, thick- 
set man, rounded and fleshy, with a round, fat face, 
pretty red, a pug nose of like shade, deep-set, black 
eyes, thin, sandy hair, bordering on the red ; clean 
shaven, except a light border of dapple gray and red 
hair which peeped out from the folds of his fat neck 
as he elevated his head, but immediately retired from 
sight as he lowered it again ; full, thick, protruding 
lips, a double chin, small red ears, and aged about 
fifty. He was called Growler by his partner, and he 
was the growler, the bull-dog of the firm, and espe- 
cially so in the consultation room, where he never 
failed to extort the required fee, which was only meas- 
ured by the capacity of his prisoner ; but to the new 
client, when he first entered the outer room and before 
made ready for the processes of the inner apartment, he 
was the personification of politeness, suavity, and good 
feeling. He was a patient fisherman for business, and 
whenever he saw a stranger in town would assume to 
know him, and approach him saying ; “ Ah, how do 
you do Mr. A. ? Glad indeed to see you. No law 
business, I suppose, in your neighborhood ? Ah, I am 
very glad to hear it. Glad you are so peaceably in- 
clined. It is a good sign. A good sign. How is 
your wife ? Hope she is very well indeed. No quar- 
reling among the neighbors ? No ? ” 

This was his set form of speech delivered to every- 
body, at all times and upon all occasions, and if possi- 
ble he would learn the name of the stranger before 
approaching him, so that by calling him by name he 
could show so much more friendship and familiarity. 


POPPER AND SHARP, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. 217 


And by thus professing to know everybody, profess- 
ing to be their particular personal friend, and by tak- 
ing such a lively interest in their affairs, by his flattery 
and persuasion, he managed to pick up many an item 
of business that brought him profit, and besides he 
learned all the news afloat. He watched the files of 
the courts to know who was sued, and, when he thought 
it would answer, would write the defendants to in- 
form them what an infamous outrage had been per- 
petrated upon their rights, and that he, being very 
familiar with the branch of law under which their 
case came, having successfully managed many similar 
cases, he could easily defend them with little or no 
expense to themselves ; and if in this manner he caught 
an unsophisticated client, the consultation room with 
its spring lock was the place where a large fee was 
extorted from his dupe. He owned a farm not far 
from the city, and dabbled a little in agriculture and 
blooded stock, and thereby professed to be the par- 
ticular friend of the farmer ; and it was his delight to 
get out to his farm and to go about it, and among the 
neighbors there, in farmer’s clothes, hoping thereby 
to earn a cheap reputation for being a friend of the 
laboring classes ; and then be talked loudly of being 
the farmer’s lawyer and not afraid of work, and by 
now and then judiciously bestowing a blooded pig or 
calf, and attending and taking a profound interest in 
all the agricultural fairs, he hoped to lay the founda- 
tion for being a candidate for office. He had worked 
at this for years without any success, but he was how- 
ever a good specimen Granger of the political type, — 
provided always that Order is largely composed, as 
is popularly supposed to be the case, of broken-down 
politicians who have failed on their own merits, and 


218 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


who are attempting to prostitute the noble business 
of agriculture to help them into office. 

Popper talked agriculture for political purposes. 
He denounced with virtuous sincerity the soulless 
corporations and heartless monopolies, but found no 
trouble in advocating the agricultural monopoly of 
bread. He put on the habiliments of a tiller of the 
soil, and hoped thereby to make these much-abused 
garments the means to reach official position. Like 
many other statesmen. Popper pandered to the lowest 
passions and prejudices to advance his own interests. 

His partner Sharp was a suitable companion. He 
was a long, lank, slim individual, cadaverous and 
pale. His upper lip. was long and thin and covered 
with hair, the rest of his face being shorn. His 
sharp, insinuating, artful eyes gave a sinister expres- 
sion to his countenance, while his pointed chin boded 
no good to any one. When he spoke his white teeth 
came prominently in view, and gave the appearance 
of a smile, while in fact it was but the premonition of 
a bite : he was the mouser of the firm. He procured 
and trained the witnesses ; knew all the news, all the 
trades, and could relate the history of every promi- 
nent family in the city. Stealthy and sly, he was gen- 
erally found where least expected. It was his forte to 
pry into other people’s business : to listen to conver- 
sations when not supposed to be present ; to look over 
the shoulders of others and read their letters and pri- 
vate papers ; and when in their offices and places of 
business to rummage their private affairs ; to get hold 
of secrets and threaten criminal prosecutions, and ex- 
tort money to procure his silence ; to talk loudly of 
honesty and integrity when engaged in some huge 
swindle ; to put on the appearance of close, intimate 


POPPER AND SHARP, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. 219 

friendship, while secretly attempting to compass the 
destruction of his victim ; to court the good opinion 
of him whom he would destroy ; and to make a meek, 
Christian-like appearance a cloak to cover up his sins. 
Heartless as a snake, cold-blooded and calculating, 
meek and humble, a Uriah Keep, Junior, he became 
a fit companion and co-worker of the virtuous Pop- 
per. 

Naturally enough Stacy, a kindred spirit, sought 
the society of Popper and Sharp. We left him re- 
solved to seek an interview with Uncle George. His 
excited mind held fast to this purpose amidst the 
storm of other thoughts that flooded in upon him. 
Perhaps he hoped the sight of the prize for which 
he was struggling and the excitement thereof would 
quicken his mind to greater efforts ; perhaps that it 
would drive away the mountains that seemed to ob- 
struct his pathway. He therefore turned his foot- 
steps towards “ Evergreen Home.” But his inter- 
view with the philosopher was without results ; Uncle 
George was true to his trust. 

Baffled, foiled, discouraged, he left full of wrath at 
his failure, but meeting Cicero at the gate, was 
pleased to find an easy tool, and soon learned all the 
talkative servant had to impart, and from thence they 
became warm friends. He had, however, found no 
means for forwarding his great purpose, and he en- 
tered his office disconsolate. The Doctor and Clare 
had now been absent nearly a year ; they might re- 
turn before anything had been accomplished, and as 
a last resort he determined to unfold his plans to 
some one upon whom he could rely for assistance. 
He had heard of the law firm of Popper and Sharp, 
and resolved to see them. Again he went forth into 


220 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


the night, into the filthy alley, into the haunts of sin 
and crime, to the winding staircase, and to the office 
of the yellow and green sign. As he stepped into the 
room Popper quickly aroused himself from the settle 
and beamingly said : “ Ah, how do you do ? Glad 
indeed to see you. No law business, I suppose, in 
your neighborhood ? Ah, glad to hear it. Glad 
you are so peaceably inclined. It is a good sign. A 
good sign. How is your wife? Hope she is well in- 
deed. No quarreling among the neighbors ? No?” 
How many times he had repeated this speech, and as 
often had Sharp whispered to him apart, ‘‘ Don’t be 
quite so familiar, remember this is an entire stranger ; 
please don’t over do your part.” But these gentle ad- 
monitions never produced the desired result, and the 
stream always fiowed on until the end was reached. 
Upon this occasion, immediately after Popper had 
ceased. Sharp hastened to say a word : “ Please do 
not be alarmed at the seeming familiarity of our Mr. 
Popper. The kindness of his heart always inclines 
him to be upon friendly terms with all mankind.” 

“ The lawyer should be the friend of all,” replied 
Mr. Popper, smiling. “ Our mission is to help those 
in trouble.” 

“ That is the underlying principle which has al- 
ways actuated the doings of this firm, and acting 
upon this broad basis, broad enough to embrace the 
whole line of Christian duty and obligation, what can 
we do for you, my young friend ? ” inquired Sharp. 

“ My name is William Stacy,” replied the visitor, 
well pleased at the appearance of the members of the 
firm. At the annunciation of his name Popper arose 
again, and, grasping him by the hand, seemingly de- 
lighted beyond expression, said again, — 


POPPER AND SHARP, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. 221 

“ Ah, how do you do ? Glad indeed to see you, 
Mr. Stacy. No law business, I suppose, in your neigh- 
borhood ? ” 

Again Mr. Sharp, with his counterfeit smile, said : 
“ Be seated, Mr. Stacy. We are glad you have hon- 
ored us with a call : we are at your service.” 

“Yes, yes, what can we do for you ? ” echoed Mr. 
Popper, resuming his place upon the settle and wiping 
the perspiration from his kindly brow. 

“ I desire to consult with you concerning an impor- 
tant matter to myself, providing I can satisfy myseK 
that it is safe to trust you. Believe me I am well 
pleased thus far with what I have -seen and heard, 
but in matters of great moment one should be cau- 
tious and prudent,” said Stacy, hardly knowing how 
to disclose the object of his visit. 

“We offer you the experience of twenty years suc- 
cessful practice,” humbly answered Sharp. “We can 
do no more. We can show you our record, and mod- 
esty forbids us to do more.” 

Popper, not so humble, said further : “ Yes, sir, we 
offer you the experience of twenty years practice ; 
and practice that has required twenty years of study 
to learn, and consummate skill to manage, and this 
we have the vanity to think we possess. By the way, 
we hear you have opened an office yourself, and we 
welcome you to the noble profession. You may rely 
upon this : we have long ago learned that the secrets 
of client and attorney are never to be disclosed. This 
is our safety and yours.” 

“ Yes,” said Stacy, “ I have commenced the prac- 
tice, and, strange as it may seem, I now desire the ser- 
vices of an eminent attorney myself. It is not often 
that lawyers become clients, but that is my unfort- 
unate situation at this moment.” 


222 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


“ Very sorry indeed to hear it,” said Sharp. 

“ Yes, very sorry,” echoed Popper. “We sympa- 
thize with those in distress, and are always ready and 
willing to aid the deserving without money and with- 
out price. Perhaps your trouble relates to ‘ Ever- 
green Home ? ’ ” 

Not if a star had fallen could Stacy have been 
more amazed, and he inquired, “ What, pray, do you 
know of ‘ Evergreen Home ? ’ ’’ • 

“ You seem astonished, but do you not understand 
that lawyers should know everything? We have not 
been idle during all these years. We have not been 
asleep, Mr. Stacy. We know all about ‘ Evergreen 
Home,’ and not only this home, but we have the his- 
tory of every great house and family for many miles 
around.” 

“ Indeed I am astonished to hear it, and yet I am 
glad you do. You are coming directly to the point 
upon which I wished to consult with you.” 

“ Perhaps the young lady has something to do 
with the case ? ” insinuated Popper. 

More astonished than ever at the knowledge of 
Popper, Stacy excitedly inquired, “ How on earth do 
you know anything concerning the young lady ? ” 

“ This inquiry betrays your youthfulness in the 
profession. It is the business of lawyers to know 
everything, and we use the means necessary to gather 
all kinds of knowledge. All these matters are re- 
ported to us by our trusty co-workers, and I presume 
we could tell you more of ‘ Evergreen Home ’ and its 
history than any men in the city. Do you know 
anything concerning its history, its title, and how 
Hume became possessed of it? ” asked Popper. 

“ Nothing whatever save what the public records 
disclose,” answered Stacy in a maze of expectation. 


POPPER AND SHARP, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. 223 

“ We can tell you everything from the beginning 
to the end,” said Popper, in a tone showing great self- 
satisfaction at his superior knowledge. “ And sir,” 
said Sharp, “ there are some things about it not gen- 
erally known, but we have it all here in our note- 
book. Of course, in our record, the place is not called 
‘Evergreen Home.’ That would hardly answer; 
but as men sometimes have an assumed name so do 
family seats. We call it ‘The Castle,’ from the old 
ruin upon the shore of the lake.” 

Stacy was excited. These men fascinated him. 
He had never seen their equals, and, very strange to 
say, they seemed to know everything concerning the 
subject upon which he had been dwelling so long. 
They were very prodigies of knowledge in his esti- 
mation, but he thought he must have the appearance 
of caution and prudence, and rising hurriedly and 
much agitated, said : “ Gentlemen, your learning and 
ability surprises me. It is indeed astounding. I feel 
that I am excited ; I must have time to become calm. 
I will see you again to-morrow evening.” He left 
the room, and passed down the winding stairs, out 
into the street ; passed the dens of infamy, the con- 
cert saloons, the gambling hells ; passed out of the 
alley and its filth, to where the clear sky and the 
stars looked down upon him in purity, but he had 
past the rubicon of his fate, and reached his room in- 
spired with a new hope. 

“ He is after old Hume’s property,” said Popper, 
after the departure of their client. “ Undoubtedly 
the girl has refused him, and having lost the fortune 
when he lost her, he wants us to recover what he 
thinks he has lost.” 


224 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


“ He evidently knows nothing about the will, and 
I do not propose to tell him much until he makes 
terms just to suit us,” said Sharp. And now the 
night being far spent and no other clients appearing, 
the law firm retired to their innocent couches, namely, 
the settle in the consultation room aiid the settle in 
the reception room. 


THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE. 


225 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE. 

Stacy retired to his room, but could find no sleep. 
His head was swimming with visions of plunder un- 
told, for at last, he thought, the light was dawning, and 
if for a year he had wandered in the darkness, in doubt 
and distress, sick at heart, and sore discouraged, be- 
cause of hope long deferred, now the sunshine of glo- 
rious day was appearing, tinting the fields and the 
hills of his darkened life with delightful promise, and 
already “ Evergreen Home ” was all his own, and he 
the popular idol of demoralized society. At last he 
had found the men, the wonderful men, who could help 
him ; and to his mind they were such noble specimens 
of humanity, so wise, so learned, so good ; they knew 
everything ; their matchless intellects were grand 
luminaries which lighted up the whole world. Was 
not Popper sublime ? Crowned with twenty years of 
delicate and difficult practice, involving schemes that 
the human mind could hardly conceive ; and Sharp, 
so humble, so confiding, so mild and childlike, yet he 
could gather rich and varied knowledge, and incalcu- 
lable information where, to others less gifted, the field 
was a barren desert. No, no ! there was no sleep for 
Stacy that night, and the following day passed slowly 
and drearily over his impatient head. At length the 
night came on, dark and dismal, and Stacy, impatient, 
anxious, worn, fatigued for want of sleep, and from 
• 15 


226 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


constant study upon the plot and scheme that so pos- 
sessed him, again found himself standing under the 
yellow and green sign that concealed the den of 
thieves, and again he entered their place of business. 
As he opened the door. Popper again aroused himself 
from the settle, and said : “ Ah, how do you do ? 
Glad indeed to see you. No law business, I suppose, 
in your neigh ” — Here Sharp came forward, and 
smilingly said: “ You forget, Mr. Popper. This is 
our Mr. Stacy, the client of last evening. Mr. Stacy 
we are glad to see — glad to see you. You are 
prompt, and that is a fine thing.” Then Popper apol- 
ogizingly said : “ Pray excuse me, Mr. Stacy ; we are 
the creatures of habit — creatures of habit ; we wel- 
come you most heartily, and we are at your service.” 

Stacy was charmed. These two slimy, oily hypo- 
crites fascinated him, and he felt himself in the pres- 
ence of genius and greatness, and said : “ Gentlemen, 
this is a happy moment for me, to be able to call my 
friends two such men as I see before me.” 

“Ah,” said Popper, “we have labored long and 
well, and hope we deserve the heartfelt praise you 
bestow. Our success is the fruit of midnight toil. 
Our business often drives us into the still small hours. 
W e hope to be of great service to you, my dear sir, 
and you may rely upon us to do our utmost.” 

“ And our utmost,” said Sharp, throwing off his 
false assumption of humble meekness, “ is no small 
amount, I can assure you. You may trust us with 
entire confidence. All you disclose will be sacred in 
our keeping.” 

Stacy was happy ; he had found his friends and he 
joyfully said : “ Gentlemen, I trust you. I will con- 
ceal no secret from you. Excuse me for not laying 


THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE. 


227 


my case before you last evening, but I felt too happy 
and too much excited. My heart was too full, and I 
therefore thought best to defer this until calmer, but 
now I am ready for business.” 

“ Lock the door. Sharp, and we will retire to the 
consultation room,” said Popper. Then counselors 
and client, a trinity of duplicity, falsehood, and de- 
ceit, entered the room, and the spring lock secured 
their voices and their schemes from the world with- 
out. Sharp brought forward his note-book, and pre- 
pared himself to take down Stacy’s statement of the 
case. Popper assumed the attitude of an eager list- 
ener, and Stacy commenced his statement. 

He opened by describing the wealth and beauty of 
“ Evergreen Home.” “ You may omit that part of the 
story. We know all about the place, and could give 
a minute description ourselves,” said Popper, inter- 
rupting him. Stacy’s eyes fairly beamed with admi- 
ration, and he said, “ That is wonderful ; indeed it is 
wonderful how much my attorneys know.” 

He then gave them a history of Clare’s life, as he 
had been able to gather it from her; of her father 
enlisting for the war ; her mother’s death ; her being 
befriended by Doctor Hume, and being taken to his 
home ; of his suit for her hand ; of the encourage- 
ment he received ; of her departure for Europe ; of 
the letter of Hume from Liverpool, and then he de- 
manded to know, as a matter of moral right and jus- 
tice, if the property did not belong to him ? 

Popper, smiling approvingly, replied : “ My young 
friend, you have studied this case pretty well. One 
thing is certain, your title is perfectly good to any 
property you can get and keep. In this case your 
right is undeniable, upon the ground of a breach 




228 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


of an implied contract of marriage, and the measure 
of damages is the property you would have obtained 
if the contract had not been broken ; but I hope you 
are not troubled as to the right. You are seeking re- 
venge, and in a struggle to pay a debt of this character 
anything is right that succeeds.” 

“ Do not fear,” said Stacy, “ that I am at all 
troubled about the right, or the means to be used to 
pay the debt: I was only thinking of a justification 
before the world, you know.” 

A pause ensued, when at length Sharp said :i%Well, 
the grounds upon which we act seem to be well agreed 
upon. They are, as I understand them, that we 
shall by a resort to any means within our reach seize 
this property, and upon this basis I join in the en- 
terprise. I admire your courage, young man, and 
ylur grasp of mind, that enabled you to conceive a 
purpose so difficult and yet so grand ; but let me re- 
mark, right here, thg-t we are entering upon a great 
undertaking. This property is pretty secure in the 
arms of the law, and it will require a mighty effort 
to dislodge the present owner, but we will help you. 
This is in the line of our business exactly. We enjoy 
such cases, and I can show you by referring to our 
record, which modesty forbids, how successful we 
have been. But mind, it is no child’s play. We 
shall encounter difficulties and dangers too. Do not 
forget that our undertaking is criminal in its nature 
and character, and criminals are sometimes punished. 
But let that pass. How this letter must have lacer- 
ated your sensitive feelings ; what do you suppose 
caused the girl to reject you, after receiving your 
company so long ? ” 


THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE. 


229 


“ That is more than I can say : I was the very pat- 
tern of goodness in all my acts and professions before 
her ; I put on my shining garments of piety and all'the 
Christian virtues when wooing her, and made my re- 
ligious character very prominent ; but once in a care- 
less moment I cursed her nigger* servant, and I have 
no doubt he told his Lady Clar’, as he called her, and 
this may have caused her to suspect my sincerity. 
She is wonderfully smart, and perhaps she discovered 
I was after the property instead of her.” 

‘‘ It is possible,” said Popper, “ that you played 
your game a little too fiercely, and made your relig- 
ion, your meekness, and your many virtues a little too 
active. In the impetuosity of youth and inexperience, 
when struggling for a great purpose, such cases do 
occur.” 

“ At what time,” inquired Sharp, “ does the family 
expect to return ? ” 

That I can’t say. They have now been absent 
one year. I think their intention was to remain away 
for quite a long time.” 

“But still they may at this moment be on their 
journey home,” said Sharp, as he closed his note- 
book. 

“ And now,” said Popper, “ what terms do you 
propose for our compensation for our services ? This 
is a little matter about which there should be no mis- 
understanding. We cannot live upon the air, you 
know.” 

Stacy replied that he was willing to share and 
share alike, in whatever was received. The terms 
offered were not quite as good as the firm expected, 
or as they were in the habit of receiving, but Popper 
said to Sharp, “ What do you say ? You are the 


230 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


financial agent of this concern. It is a big stake, 
and perhaps we can be a little generous.” 

“ Yes,” replied Sharp, “ we ought to help this 
young man right his great wrong. He has been de- 
frauded, in fact cheated out of a splendid property, 
and I agree to his proposition as to fees.” 

“Well, we will shake hands upon that; there is 
honor among gentlemen, you know,” said Popper; 
and then the thieves shook hands upon the agreement 
as to how the spoils were to be divided. 

“ Now, these preliminary matters being thus ami- 
cably adjusted, let us proceed to business,” said 
Sharp. “ You have told us what you know about your 
case and the property in question, and I will now tell 
you what we know about it, and have known for 
some time.” Sharp then made a statement from 
which the following facts are gathered. 

The property, of which “ Evergreen Home ” was but 
a small portion, formerly belonged to a Mr. Parbery, 
a wealthy merchant of the city. In 1851, Parbery 
died leaving no will, and Doctor Hume purchased the 
property — which consisted of “ Evergreen Home ” 
and much valuable land then outside the city limits, 
but since then the city had spread over it causing it 
to greatly increase in value — from his heirs, and re- 
ceived from them their quitclaim deeds. Parbery 
had made a will some years before his death, in 
which, among other bequests, there was a legacy to 
one Miles Steadman, but this will had been duly can- 
celed by the testator, by his partially erasing his 
name and by writing at the close of the will the fol- 
lowing words : “ This will is hereby canceled and 
revoked, and all the bequests thereof are revoked, 
April 18, 1849,” which cancellation whs duly wit- 


THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE. 


231 


nessed and signed by Parbery. Below this, and 
upon the same sheet of paper, in Parbery’s own hand- 
writing, there was a memorandum that said, “ My 
property will be disposed of by a will hereafter by 
me to be made and executed.” This canceled will 
was produced in the Probate Court, after Parbery’s 
death, but the cancellation and revocation were held 
to destroy it, and no subsequent will as mentioned in 
the memorandum was ever found, and therefore let- 
ters of administration were duly issued, and the es- 
tate administered and handed over to the Parbery 
heirs, three daughters, who became the sole owners 
of all the real and personal property of their father, 
and from them Doctor Hume received his title. The 
Miles Steadman mentioned in the will was a young 
man whom Parbery had taken to live with him when 
a boy, to work in his store. Steadman remained with 
the family some time after his majority, but for a 
year or two before Parbery’s death he had become 
dissipated and drunken, living in low society. It was 
supposed by many that if the subsequent will men- 
tioned in the memorandum could be found, or if it 
was ever made and executed, it would contain a be- 
quest to Steadman, as the canceled will had, and 
Steadman employed lawyers to look into the matter 
for him, but they could do nothing, for no subsequent 
will could be found, and the old will had been re- 
voked. And here Steadman’s claims and efforts 
ended, and the daughters received an undoubted and 
perfect title to the property, and ten years ago had 
sold and deeded the same to Doctor Hume. The re- 
voked will was placed, among other papers of the 
estate, on file in the Probate Office, and Popper and 
Sharp, for their own uses, had taken a copy of the 


232 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


same, and here brought it forward and handed it to 
Stacy. He had listened to Sharp’s statement in 
breathless silence and expectation, and read the copy 
of the old will with agitation. Said he, “ Why did 
not Parbery burn or destroy this will if he really 
wished to revoke it ? It seems to me like nonsense 
to carefully cancel a will and at the same time to 
choicely preserve it.” 

“ Your idea,” said Popper, “ is a good one, and the 
same thing was suggested to our minds years ago ; 
but some men have strange notions about wills ; they 
are sometimes superstitious about their destruction, 
and do as this man did, revoke it and preserve it.” 

“ A more sensible reason,” said Sharp, “ for its pres- 
ervation is, that he undoubtedly intended to use the 
old will to assist him in drawing the new one, and 
through neglect failed to destroy it. You see there 
are many bequests in this will, and evidently he 
wished to refer to the old will in drawing the new 
one, for very likely some of the legacies would be the 
same in the new as in the old one.” 

“ Whatever his notion may have been in preserving 
a revoked will is hot material, for it was revoked and 
it was preserved ; these are patent facts ; but the 
question now is, how can the property be reached? 
Hume’s title looks like a chain of iron,” said Popper. 

“ Evidently,” said Stacy, “ the memorandum writ- 
ten here on this old will points to a new will of a sub- 
sequent date.” 

“ But was it ey^ made, and if so where is it, and 
what does it contain ? What are its provisions ? If 
it was ever made and could be found, undoubtedly it 
would do our case no good. We cannot acquire the 
iitle by disturbing the title of the heirs. So if a will 


THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE. 


233 


is found it must be tbe right kind of a will. Do you 
understand what that means, my boy? Yes? Well 
it must also be found in the right place, and there are 
several important requisites it must contain,” said 
Sharp, very meekly, but at the same time his teeth 
gave promise of something more than the counterfeit 
smile that played upon his lips. 

The hint contained in Sharp’s remark that a suita- 
ble will could be forged and put forth as the new will 
found, in pursuance of the promise of the memoran- 
dum, had not before been suggested to the mind of 
Stacy, and he looked upon the humble Sharp with 
new and increased admiration. But it was no new 
idea to the law firm, and they had suggested the same 
thing to Steadman, but he either was not inclined, or 
never mustered up courage, to undertake the job. 
Stacy then asked Sharp to give him his idea of what 
the new will should contain in order to aid the project 
in which they were engaged. Sharp answered this 
inquiry, saying : “ Without doubt Steadman must 
play a prominent part in this game, and we know 
Steadman and can manage him. He had lived long 
in Barbery’s family, and had by his good conduct be- 
come entitled to a handsome legacy. This is an ini- 
tial fact, and merely because he became drunken a 
year or two before the old man died, did not and does 
not forfeit all his claims upon his gratitude, or the 
affection he ought to have felt for the boy. Now if a 
will could be found among the old papers of the es- 
tate, bequeathing all this property to Steadman, he 
has now become so besotted and debauched that we 
could easily buy out his interest, and by bringing a 
suit in ejectment in his name, recover the whole 
thing.” 


234 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


The meek and humble Sharp had revealed the 
plot ; he had pointed out the road, but would Stacy 
take the hint and willingly enter upon the perilous 
journey? The client was an apt student, and he 
quickly replied, “ Such a will could be made and 
placed among the old papers, if there are any such 
papers yet remaining in the house at ‘Evergreen 
Home.’ I think I have the means of going all over 
that house at any time.” 

“ You are a brave boy,” said Popper, “ but there 
are many difficulties in the way. The will must be 
drawn to exactly imitate Parbery’s handwriting, and 
the name signed to it must be that of Parbery’s so 
closely and perfectly forged that detection will be ut- 
terly impossible, — for Parbery did his own writing, 
the old will was drawn by himself ; then the names of 
suitable witnesses must be procured who are known 
to be dead, and their handwriting exactly imitated, 
and their names exactly forged. Then some suitable 
motive must be found for the bequest of all the prop- 
erty to Steadman, thereby really disinheriting his own 
daughters. They could not now be injured, for they 
gave only quitclaim deeds and have received their 
money long ago ; but this thing must be made plaus- 
ible, and must be fortified by good reasons all the way 
through, for this attack upon the Doctor and his for- 
tune will raise a d — 1 of a commotion .among the 
aristocratic nabobs of the city.” 

“ As to the plausibility and reason of the thing,” 
said Sharp, “ a man has the right to make just such 
a will as he pleases if in his right mind, without ask- 
ing the opinion of any one ; and if he disinherits his 
own daughters, it is his business alone, and a curious 
public have no right to inquire why or wherefore. 


THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE. 


235 


If a subsequent will is found in Parbery’s handwrit- 
ing, properly executed and witnessed, and found in 
the right place, so that no suspicions can be raised on 
that account, I can recover this property for Steadman 
in spite of all the nabobs in the world. Many a will 
is made without rhyme or reason, and vast estates are 
distributed accordingly ; but in this (?ase, if you wish 
to fortify a Gibraltar, which the will would be that I 
have described, there is this thing to help you. It is 
known, and publicly known, that Parbery’s daughters 
were dissatisfied with the old will ; they thought too 
much of the property had been given to charity and 
charitable uses, and were displeased with the bequest 
of ten thousand dollars to Steadman. There was not 
much in their dissatisfaction. They were a devoted 
family, but enough is known to give color to their be- 
ing much displeased with the old will, and I can by a 
little management procure the necessary witnesses to 
magnify this displeasure of the daughters into a sufii- 
cient reason for their receiving nothing from their 
father. Don’t ask me now how I can procure them 
or where ; but I assert that in two days’ time I could 
bring into court a dozen men and women, any number 
for that matter, who will testify that they once lived 
at Parbery’s house, in his family, and worked for him, 
and that they frequently heard him say, if his daugh- 
ters were not suited with the will he had already 
made, he would make another and leave them noth- 
ing. I know how to get witnesses. It only takes a 
little patience and a little money.” Who ever saw 
such a smile ? It was terrible. It was of the kind 
that made one shudder like the warning of the rattle- 
snake. 

Stacy had never dreamed of ability so grand, or of 


236 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


an intellect so majestic and clear. Even Popper was 
somewhat astonished, and came forward and patted 
Sharp on the shoulder, and pompously said, “You 
will do for a partner.” 

Popper also suggested that Steadman was the one 
man needful to carry forward the project, for he had 
been living long in Parbery’s employ, and was per- 
fectly familiar with his handwriting, probably could 
imitate it, and very likely had letters and other instru- 
ments in his possession in Parbery’s own proper hand. 
Stacy, still flushed and excited, said, “ Steadman we 
must have, and I will take it upon myself to And him. 
What kind of a looking man is he ? ” 

“ He is so near like so many other drunkards that 
it is hard to describe him. We both know him very 
well, and one of us will go with you upon the search. 
We know all the ins and outs of all the places he fre- 
quents, and they are not of the highest order, I can 
assure you,” said Popper. 

It was arranged that on the next evening Sharp 
and Stacy should search for Steadman, and bring 
him to the consultation room if found. 

The night was now far spent and the conspirators 
separated, and Stacy wandered again out into the 
darkness, and hurried on to his doom. 


THE WORK OF A NIGHT. 


237 


CHAPTER XXL 
THE WOEK OF A NIGHT. 

Steadman was a vagabond. He was drunken, 
and half the time in the ditch. He was covered all 
over with the filth and impurity consequent upon 
leading a life of debasement, and spent his days 
and nights in the very lowest and most depraved so- 
ciety. He was unknown to all respectable people, 
and his social sphere was circumscribed by a few 
drinking saloons and gambling places, of the lowest 
character (if these plague spots upon our civilization 
admit of degrees of comparison), with all their at- 
tendant family of vices, — those foul cankers upon 
the body of our social fabric, which, instead of being 
cut root and branch, are permitted to fester and grow, 
and are sometimes encouraged. His bloated cheeks 
and bloodshot eyes, his drooling mouth, and his shat- 
tered mind, bespoke a life of debauchery ; and as he 
walked the streets, a lost, fallen, useless member of 
the human family, society looked on without a shud- 
der and without a thought, and laughed at and de- 
spised this lump of polluted clay, unheeding the fact 
that into his nostrils the Father had breathed the 
breath of life, whereby he became a living soul. But 
we prophesy, if this man should suddenly become 
wealthy, or if he should make a false and criminal 
claim to any seat of wealth and refinement, then the 
magnets of society would prick up their ears and be- 


238 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


come deeply interested in him, and in order to be- 
come popular with this pretender, and to prepare 
the way for introducing him into the aristocratic cir- 
cles, he would be sought after and petted, and aristoc- 
racy would fawn around the filthy garments of, and 
meanly flatter this, its prospective chief. It would 
have many excuses for him, and would say that 
drunken debauchery generally comes from a noble- 
hearted generosity, and that the worst of men may 
be the very best ones in disguise. To this glittering 
chief who commands the social field, money is the 
charmer ; it cures all defects ; it heals all blemishes ; 
it galvanizes depravity into a thing of beauty ; adorns 
wickedness in robes of purity, and excuses crime ; it 
overlooks dishonesty, hypocrisy, and fraud, and sacri- 
fices virtue, morality, justice, and truth upon the altar 
of gold. 

Steadman had lived with Parbery when a boy, and 
until he was twenty-five years of age. He was a 
young man of promise, but in an evil hour had been 
tempted by the fascinating charms of the fashionable 
wine cup, and had fallen a victim to his appetite for 
strong drink. He had left Parbery’s two years be- 
fore that gentleman’s death, and commenced a career 
of reckless, extravagant living, that soon ended in 
want and inebriety ; and the failure to receive any- 
thing from the Parbery estate so disappointed his 
expectations and hopes that he sought to drown his 
troubles in the oblivion of intoxication, and thereaf- 
ter led a life of besotted debauchery. Strong drink 
had corrupted his moral nature and stupefied his con- 
science, as it always has and always will; and the 
constant dwelling upon the loss of his legacy for 
years, and the fancied ingratitude of Parbery, had 


THE WORK OF A NIGHT. 


239 


caused him to become misanthropic, and wealthy 
men especially were the objects of his morbid hatred. 
Hope had long since expired in his soul, and the 
gloom of total darkness had settled down upon his 
life, as if the sun had vanished from the universe, 
and grim night ruled the world. To him there was 
no morning of promise, no day of expectation, and 
no evening of repose, no peaceful hours for calm med- 
itation and reflection ; but his insatiate appetite hung 
like the incubus of despair about his neck, dragging 
him down to degradation and ruin, and his only 
thought, his only comfort, his only desire was for 
the friendly demon that brought forgetfulness. Once 
his heart glowed with love, sympathy, and affection ; 
now it was cold and emotionless as a stone: once 
his intellect was keen and bright, and delighted in 
the pleasures of study and thought ; now it was stupid 
and dull: once he had many friends, and enjoyed the 
pleasures of refined society ; now he shunned the 
gaze of respectability, and his friends were the bar- 
keeper and the bottle, — all, all had been sacrificed, 
his intellect and his heart, his loves and his hopes, 
his friends and his self-respect, his virtue, morality, 
and reputation, — all had been burned to cinders by 
the deadly enemy that had captured and held him 
prisoner, — a human wreck, a living ruin, a breathing 
putrefaction, — picture and type of many a stranded 
wanderer upon the shores of Time. 

In this condition Steadman was found by Sharp 
and Stacy. He was timid and had lost all his cour- 
age, and when approached by Sharp would have fled, 
for he had known him in better days, but his trem- 
bling limbs would not perform their office, and he re- 
mained stationary. His clothes were in rags, his hair 


240 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


uncombed, and when Sharp reached out his hand and 
said, “ Why, Steadman, how do you do ? ” he looked 
up stupidly and said nothing. Sharp continued and 
said, “ Don’t you know me ? You have not forgotten 
your friend of the olden time ? ” He was still mute, 
and made motions as if he wished to go away. Sharp 
renewed his attempt to talk with him and said : “I 
am Sharp ; you must remember Popper and Sharp ; 
we tried once to help you, and we have come now to 
help you. Look up. You know me. You know 
Sharp, and I am now and always have been your 
friend.” Steadman turned his eyes upon Sharp and 
gazed at him a moment with a stupid, utterly indiffer- 
ent, tired look, and said, “ Help me ? Help me ? No, 
no. It is all over,” and his head dropped again as if 
in pain, and his countenance bore the expression of 
complete discouragement, bordering upon despair. 

“Yes, yes,” continued Sharp, “ we come to help 
you, we come to assist you. It is not all over. Come, 
come rouse, shake off this stupor, and be yourself 
again.” 

“ I have no friends. They are all gone. Let me 
go, I am but a worthless worm. Tread upon me, 
crush me into the earth and pass along ; that is the 
way they all do, and I expect nothing else.” This he 
said in a tone of unspeakable dejection and misery, 
and slowly turned as if to go away. How fallen, how 
degraded ; what a wreck and ruin. The promise of the 
early years of drunkenness was more than fulfilled ; 
even Sharp shuddered at the fall. But for the pur- 
poses for which he was sought, his condition could not 
have been improved. It was easy enough to make 
this lump of stupidity the dupe and the tool of any 
wicked design. Sharp grew impatient and said, “ Do 


THE WORK OF A NIGHT. 


241 


not turn away from your friends. Do not flee from 
those who come to help you. My friend here, and 
your friend, is Mr. Stacy ; we have searched for and 
found you expressly to help and befriend you.’’ 

Stacy then came forward and said, — 

We have had a long search for you, and we have 
something to tell you to your advantage if you will 
come with us.” 

But Steadman only said, “ I have no friends ; I have 
been in these haunts for years, and no one ever came 
to see me, and I do not wish to see any one ; I shall 
trouble the world but a little longer.” 

Sharp then tenderly placed his hand upon Stead- 
man’s shoulder, and smiling eagerly said, “You re- 
member the legacy? ” 

At the mention of the legacy Steadman shuddered 
as if in a chill, and quickly awnsered : “ Do I remem- 
ber it ? why I have thought of nothing else for years. 
It has ruined me, and made me hate everybody, and 
myself. I have tried to forget it, I have tried to over- 
look, to drown, to obliterate the great wrong, and the 
effort has brought upon me this ruin. Go away, I 
shall not remember it much longer.” 

“It is concerning the legacy that we wish to talk 
with you, and we believe we shall be able to obtain 
it for you. Do not despond, there are brighter days 
coming,” urged Sharp. 

“ Oh no, the property is gone, my friends are gone, 
Steadman is gone. This is only his evil shadow, only 
his worthless body,” said Steadman with emotion. 

Then Stacy quickly replied, “ The property is not 
gone ; I saw it but the other day, and you have friends. 
I know two of them who are willing to work to right 
16 


242 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


the great wrong that has so crushed you. Take 
courage.” 

“ The property not gone ! Is it there ? And can I 
get my legacy ? I have never heard so kind words 
before. No, no, it is only a dream, a cruel dream : I 
have had such before.” 

And thus after much persuading and coaxing Stead- 
man consented to go with them to the office of Pop- 
per and Sharp, and there he was washed, clothed in 
suitable garments, and supplied with food, which so 
changed his appearance that a friend would scarcely 
have recognized him. His condition was such that 
they thought it not best to broach the subject of the 
will to him for a few days, when his mind should be- 
come more calm and clear by withholding an over- 
supply of stimulant, and in the mean time he should 
be kept constantly in the company of one of the part- 
ners or Stacy. It was arranged that in one week’s 
time Steadman should be conducted into the mysteries 
of the project against “ Evergreen Home,” not the real 
project by any means. So far as he was concerned, it 
was to be simply a proceeding to obtain his legacy 
contained in the old will. But the conspirators feared 
he would not become their instrument for any fraud- 
ulent purpose, for Popper and Sharp had known him 
when a high-minded gentleman, the soul of honor, 
with a keen sense of justice ; when he would have 
scorned even a deceitful act ; but they depended much 
upon the stupefaction of years and years of drunken- 
ness, and their persuasive tongues to further blind 
him, correctly judging that rum deadens not only the 
intellect but the moral nature as well. Steadman’s 
appetite for drink was insatiate, and his keepers 
adroitly tempered its use so as to keep his mind be- 


THE WORK OF A NIGHT. 


243 


clouded and befogged. They talked to him much of 
the recovery of his legacy, revived his hope, and he 
walked about in a kind of dream-land, and soon came 
to look upon the partners as his benefactors, his de- 
liverers, and the words they uttered to his ears had 
a charm like the language of superior beings. And 
they were so kind, so gentle, so affectionate. He had 
seen nothing like it during all the dreary years he 
had been traveling the by-ways of sin and death, and 
they led him by the hand as they would have led a 
child. These glorious men with such generous hearts 
were to recover his legacy for him, and they went 
about it freely, without fee or reward, or the hope 
thereof, actuated by their pure benevolence and dis- 
interested kindness, and they had clothed and fed 
him, and taken him into their refined and cultivated 
society. What a transformation ! He had never 
known such men before, and he would sound their 
praises all the remainder of his days. Little did he 
dream that he was to become the tool, the instru- 
ment, of one of the darkest conspiracies known to the 
annals of crime. 

Upon an evening in the latter part of August, 1866, 
about fifteen months after the departure of the Doctor 
and Clare for Europe, and more than a year after 
Richard entered the office of Judge Kent, Popper, 
Sharp, and Stacy met for the final arrangement of 
their plans and purposes regarding Steadman. 

Popper opened the council by observing that “ This 
man Steadman has now been on our hands more than 
one month, and is in as good a condition as we can 
get him. We therefore might as well complete this 
business without longer delay. Every day brings 
Hume nearer his home ; every day adds difficulties to 


244 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


our undertaking. We have been hesitating like chil- 
dren. Bold movements are the ones that win, and 
are the kind I like, besides Steadman is an expensive 
luxury.” 

“ You forget,” replied Sharp, “ that this drunken 
imbecile must be handled very carefully ; we must get 
him in exactly the proper condition of mind for our 
purposes ; for unless stupefied by powerful and oft-ap- 
plied potations, he would scorn to forge the will, and 
would without doubt expose us. We know, before it 
was overthrown and ruined, he possessed an upright 
mind and an honest heart. By no chance must his 
old seK appear upon the scenes. We must hold fast 
to the counterfeit Steadman ; failing in this, we are 
ruined ourselves.” 

“ Yes,” said Stacy, “ we must manage him deli- 
cately, and make him the guilty party without his 
suspecting it. We must make him commit the 
forgery, and keep entirely clear of it ourselves, and 
in order to do this we must keep him properly stupe- 
fied. It would be a horrible blunder if the conse- 
quences of this thing should by any chance be visited 
upon ourselves.” 

“ He looks upon us now,” said Popper, “ as su- 
perior beings, as his kind benefactors, and I believe 
would do anything we please to ask him without a 
question. But, gentlemen, it is no time now to stop 
and calculate the consequences of this thing. It is 
altogether too late for that ; we have entered upon the 
job and it must be carried through to the end, and 
the consequences must take care of themselves.” 

“Undoubtedly you are correct,” replied Sharp, “but 
must move forward with consummate caution, 
else what is our boasted experience worth ? In the 


THE WORK OF A NIGHT. 


245 


first place, we must draw the will ourselves in a dis- 
guised hand, and simply have Steadman sign Par- 
bery’s name to it. Then the chances for discovery 
and detecting the forgery will be a thousand times 
less. Signing the name is the forgery : even if Par- 
bery did draw the old will, there is no reason why 
he should not have employed an attorney to draw the 
new one. Then let Steadman simply sign Parbery’s 
name. If he can do this perfectly, it is all we ought 
to ask of him.” 

“ Your ideas are good,” said Stacy, “ and I fully 
indorse them. I have the letters of Parbery to 
Steadman to which Parbery’s name is signed, and we 
can examine for ourselves as to his skill in forging 
the name to the will : we ought to have half a dozen 
wills drawn for him to sign, and then we can select 
the one that imitates the hand of Parbery the most 
perfectly.” 

“ One other thing,” said Sharp ; “we must have a 
contract drawn for Steadman to sign, agreeing to 
make us a deed of the property when the same is re- 
covered. This is the real thing after all.” 

“ You are thoughtful, my partner,” said Popper ; 
“ but why not have him deed the property to us at 
once ? If it is his at all it is his now, and he can con- 
vey a good title. Here is a deed, look at it, and here 
is also a contract wherein he agrees to make a deed 
when the property is recovered. Let him sign both. 
They will not do any harm locked in our safe. And 
here are several wills for our man to sign. You see 
old Popper’s head is worth something yet.” 

“ Well, now, everything seems to be ready for busi- 
ness. First we will have him sign the wills, then the 
deed, and then the contract. Let us proceed at 
once,” said Sharp. 


246 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ Is everything so arranged that Steadman com- 
mits the crime, and we are safe ? ” anxiously inquired 
Stacy. 

“ Everything,” answered Sharp, “ is as safe as it 
can be. If Steadman is in the proper condition, so 
that he cannot possibly make any disclosures, then 
there is no danger. To all outward appearance we 
only draw some papers for Steadman, our client, in 
the capacity of attorneys, and I doubt not Steadman 
will so regard it, and will have no curiosity to read 
the papers or make any inquiries concerning them. 
Of course he must not be permitted to read the 
papers, and if he discloses any anxiety so to do, they 
must be withdrawn, and the matter postponed until 
another time.” 

“ Well, then, let us call in our devoted friend,” said 
Popper, “ and set him at work. But first examine the 
whiskey jug ; we may have to resort to that before 
this matter is over. We must not lose sight of this, 
our potent friend.” 

Steadman was brought into the inner sanctuary, 
and the spring lock closed ominously upon the three 
conspirators and the dupe. 

Popper then said, his face beaming with unwonted 
kindness : “ Come boys, let us take a little drop, and 
drink to the good fortune of our friend in being so 
near his legacy,” and he brought forward the jug and 
the glasses. 

“ A very little for Steadman,” whispered Sharp ; 
“just a drop to quiet his nerves.” 

“ Now, another to Popper and Sharp, the generous, 
true-hearted gentlemen,” said Stacy. 

“ Only a drop to Steadman,” insisted Sharp. 

“ You flatter us too much,” said Popper, replying 


THE WORK OF A NIGHT. 


24T 


to Stacy. “We only perform the duties enjoined hy 
an enlightened Christianity. Are we not taught to 
help the poor and the lowly ? ” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Steadman, beginning to feel the 
inspiration of the jug, “you have my everlasting 
gratitude. I know not how to thank you. Let us 
drink and be happy. This is a glorious world after 
all. Let us drink and be happy.” 

“ Before we drink to the sentiment you so beauti- 
fully express,” said Popper, “ one moment for busi- 
ness. In the further prosecution of your claims for the 
legacy it is necessary for you to sign a paper or two.” 

“ Bring them on,” said Steadman ; “ I am ready 
for anything.” 

“ It is a mere matter of form,” returned Popper. 
“ You know the law is full of forms. By these pa- 
pers we hope speedily to be able to hand over to you 
your legacy and the interest thereon, which now, with 
the principal, amounts to twenty thousand dollars.” 

“ Never mind the interest,” noisily interrupted 
Steadman. “ Bring on your papers.” 

“Mind it is a mere matter of form,” continued 
Popper. 

“ Why this long explanation ? ” interrupted Sharp, 
aside. “He is ripe for anything. Look at him.” 

Popper resumed ; “ We have to serve a copy of the 
old will upon the opposite attorneys and the daugh- 
ters of Parbery, and it is necessary that these copies 
should be exact, and that Parbery’s name should be 
exactly imitated, or they might make some technical 
objection to them. You understand it is a mere for- 
mal matter, and no harm can possibly come of it.” 

At the mention of the Parbery daughters, Stead- 
man looked up, his boisterous manner ceased, he 


248 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


hung his head as if in thought, and then said, “ They 
were so good and so kind, I must not harm them. 
They were like sisters to me.” 

Then Sharp impatiently whispered to Popper, and 
said : “ Your useless foolish talk is likely to work the 
ruin of this whole business. The mention of the 
Parbery daughters has awakened an old memory, and 
memory is just what we have always striven to keep 
quiet. Propose another drink at once.” 

“ Now we must drink to the sentiment of our 
friend,” said Popper. “ Let us drink and be happy.” 

“We will all join heartily in that,” said Sharp. 

“ Yes, that is the only thing to do,” replied Stead- 
man. “ Now where are the papers ? You understand 
the requirements of the law ; I am ready for busi- 
ness.” 

“Here, then,” interposed Popper, “ take this pen 
and paper and practice writing Parbery ’s name, as he 
used to write it during the later years of his life.” 

“ Look at these letters for a copy,” said Sharp. 

“ I once could imitate his name exactly without a 
copy, but I have been long out of practice. Why do 
you not do this yourselves? You are better writers 
than I, and my hand trembles.” 

“ The name must be an exact imitation of Par- 
bery’s,” replied Popper, “ and you used to be famil- 
iar with his writing and have seen him sign his name. 
You can therefore do it better than we can. The 
trembling of your hand may assist you, for you know 
his hand trembled in the later years of his life.” 

“ Gentlemen, I will do my best,” said Steadman, his 
wonted noisy manner returning. “ You are my at- 
torneys, and of course I do as you bid me ; ” saying 
which he took up the pen and commenced practicing 


THE WORK OF A NIGHT. 


249 


upon the name. He wrote it perhaps a hundred 
times, and his imitations of Parbery’s signature were 
indeed surprising. His old skill seemed to return to 
him in a marvelous manner, and when he had brought 
his hand fully under control, the, wills were handed 
to him, and he signed the name of Parbery to them, 
imitating the genuine exactly. Indeed his skill was 
amazing. The conspirators looked on in wonder, but 
they resolved that not again should he become so 
sober, or so near himself, until the property was re- 
covered. Sharp affixed the names of three witnesses, 
and the fatal deed was accomplished. Steadman 
then signed his own name to the contract and the 
conveyance, and never questioned what any of these 
writings and papers contained. A smile of triumph 
lighted up the faces of the three principals, and Sharp, 
with a smile of serene satisfaction, arose and said : 
“ Once again I renew our friend’s toast. These little 
items of business being out of the way, ‘ Let us drink 
and be happy,’ and this time. Popper, none of your 
homeopathic doses. Give us a good old-fashioned 
bumper.” 

They drank, and in the draught Steadman’s mem- 
ory was drowned in forgetfulness. 

And so the deed was accomplished, the conspiracy 
nearly completed, and the plotters thereof were ex- 
cited to the highest degree. Their hopes were bright, 
and they attempted not to restrain their feeling of 
triumph. 

The will they had made and forged was dated as 
of January 21, 1850, about one year prior to Par- 
bery’s death, and less than a year subsequent to the 
date of the old will. It was a short instrument, and 
simply devised all the property of the testator, of 


250 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


whatever name or nature, whether real, personal, or 
mixed, to Miles Steadman, whom the testator denom- 
inated his adopted son, in consideration of his faith- 
ful sei-vices and his many virtues. There was a 
further statement in the will that the daughters of 
the testator had each received from him fortunes dur- 
ing his lifetime, and they having been amply pro- 
vided for, the remaining property was bestowed upon 
Steadman as a mark of the testator’s esteem. 

The next step in the conspiracy was to cause this 
forged will to be lodged in its proper place and ac- 
cidentally found by some disinterested person, and 
what power could save “ Evergreen Home,” and all 
the property attached thereto, from falling into the 
hands of these incarnate thieves and robbers ? 

Oh, that some winged messenger of love, some 
guardian angel, would whisper in the ear of the Doc- 
tor that he is standing upon the brink of ruin, and 
cause him to hasten to the home he loves so well. 


ANOTHER NIGHTS WORK. 


251 


CHAPTER XXII. 

AI^OTHEB night’s WORK. 

The tower of Evergreen Mansion is reached by 
means of a winding staircase, which, commencing in 
the third story of the building, passes through the 
garret, and ends at the observatory of the tower. In 
the stair-way, through the garret, there is a landing, 
and opening from it a door to the darkened space next 
the roof, in which there is an accumulation of rubbish, 
old newspapers, cast-off garments, broken and worn- 
out furniture, old bonnets and dresses that had spent 
their day upon the stage of fashion, and passed out of 
sight, like those who wore them; broken toys and 
old school-books, tokens of childhood and youth, rep- 
resentatives of those who had long ago grown old and 
passed away, relics of a former life and growth, pict- 
ures of former generations, silent voices of the an- 
cient dead. Within this charmed and sacred deposi- 
tory, where the dust of long years had accumulated 
in silence, and the aged spiders had woven their webs 
in peace and security, there was an old wooden box 
or chest, with a loose board cover, filled with musty, 
mildewed papers, that had belonged to the Parbery 
family, as most of the trumpery gathered there had, 
and was not considered worth removing by the daugh- 
ters when they sold the place to Doctor Hume. 

Stacy was familiar with the house from his frequent 
visits there, and many times had been upon the observ- 


252 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


atory, but knew nothing of the garret or its con- 
tents. Steadman had lived in the house for many 
years with the Parbery family, and knew it perfectly. 
The effort of the conspirators was to ascertain from 
Steadman if anything now remained in any unused 
part of the house, that once belonged to the Parbery 
family ; and by many questions put to him in a blind, 
indirect manner, in connection with Stacy’s knowl- 
edge, they learned that in the days when he lived at 
“ Evergreen Home ” the garret was filled with a vari- 
ety of unused articles, and among them that there was 
a chest or box of old papers, letters, receipts, bills of 
sale, and worthless accounts. This information was 
of value, for if this old box of Parbery papers still 
remained in the garret, as the probabilities were that 
it did, being filled with worthless papers of no value 
to any one, it would furnish the means to overcome 
one of the formidable difficulties that the conspiracy 
had to encounter. 

It was a necessity to the case of Steadman against 
Doctor Hume, for the recovery of the Parbery estate, 
that the forged will should be accidentally found 
among the old papers of Parbery, for a will coming 
from any other quarter would be tainted with dam- 
aging suspicions, and it occurred to the fertile brain 
of Popper, that if the box of Parbery’s old papers 
still remained in the garret, and if the will could be 
lodged therein, and by accident found there, by some 
disinterested third person, it would be a very strong 
point in favor of maintaining the will, and of estab- 
lishing its validity in a court of justice. They sus- 
pected that the rubbish in the garret had not been 
removed by the Parbery daughters, and that it, very 
likely, remained about the same as in the days when 


ANOTHER NIGHTS WORK. 


253 


Steadman lived there, and they were so strongly of 
this opinion, they made up their minds that the will 
must be deposited in the old chest. 

But how could this feat be accomplished ? The 
task was beset with difficulties and dangers. The 
house must be entered secretly, the garret searched, 
and the old chest found, if it still remained there, and 
there must be no traces left behind to arouse or en- 
gender suspicions. The undertaking required pru- 
dence, caution, coolness, and skill. It was the great 
point of the conspiracy ; if it failed, all was lost ; if 
successfully accomplished, victory seemed assured. 
Evidently Stacy must be the instrument to perform 
this labor, because of his familiarity with the house 
and the servants, but there were many obstacles in 
his way. Miss Sibyl, who had charge of the house, 
was suspicious of her shadow, and she probably had 
been informed of Clare’s rejection of Stacy by letters 
from the Doctor’s sister. Uncle George had philo- 
sophic suspicions of everybody, and especially of Stacy; 
indeed, as to him, he was inclined moreover to be war- 
like in his demonstrations, and it became clear to the 
mind of Stacy, that if an entrance into the house 
could be made at all, it must be through the agency 
of Cicero, with whom he was upon friendly terms. 
But could the vain Cicero be trusted? They dare 
not trust him, but he could be easily deceived, and to 
deception they concluded to resort. 

Steadman was still a dupe. He did not know he 
had forged a will, and did not at all comprehend the 
reasons for the numerous questions asked him con- 
cerning “Evergreen Home,” but he became very curi- 
ous to see the house once more, and he and Stacy set 
out for the place, in the dusk of an evening, — Stacy 


254 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


bearing with him the forged will. This instrument 
had been so manipulated as to look like a very old 
paper, brown, soiled, and faded. It was inclosed in 
an envelope of like character, sealed and indorsed by 
Steadman, in the hand of Parbery, under the direc- 
tions of Popper, as follows, “Last will and testament 
of Archibald Parbery, January 21, 1850.” As they 
reached the house, they discovered a light, and at 
first suspected the family had returned, but shortly 
satisfied themselves that it was only Miss Sibyl. 
They had entered the yard, and concealed themselves 
between the main building and the servants’ quarters, 
and while standing there Stacy said to Steadman : 
“ Confound the luck ; I was in hopes Miss Sibyl still 
remained in the city, for I wanted to take a look 
through the house to-night.” 

“ What for ? ” inquired Steadman. 

“ I want to see your old quarters, and I have a 
curiosity to look into that old chest in the garret,” re- 
plied Stacy. 

At this point in their conversation the servants’ 
door opened, and Stacy and Steadman ran away at 
the top of their speed. Uncle George following them 
until they were lost in the darkness. The servant 
had heard their voices, and had distinctly heard these 
words, “ I wanted to look through the house to-night,” 
and, “ I want to see your old quarters, and I have a 
curiosity to look into the old chest in the garret.” 
Uncle George at first thought they were burglars, but 
afterwards was very certain the voice was that of 
Stacy. He did not then inform Miss Sibyl, thinking 
he might unnecessarily excite her fears, but deter- 
mined to renew his own vigilance in guarding the 
place. 


ANOTHER NIGHTS WORK. 255 

The effort to deposit the will had failed, and Stacy 
concluded the next time to visit the place alone, think- 
ing wisely such an undertaking did not require any 
company. In pursuance of this thought, in three 
nights after the first effort, Stacy was at the house 
again. Miss Sibyl was not at home, and the only 
light about the premises appeared in the servants’ 
quarters. Stacy desired to see Cicero, his friend, but 
how to accomplish this purpose and not be seen by 
Uncle George ? He carefully ascertained, by looking 
in the window, that Cicero was not in the servants’ 
room, and he suspected him to be making an evening 
visit to some of his numerous lady admirers, and de- 
termined to wait patiently at the gate for his return. 
At length the light disappeared from the servants’ 
room, and still no Cicero appeared. Could he have 
left the place ? Had he retired for the night before 
Stacy’s arrival ? It was now deep in the night and 
solemn stillness reigned around the place. It was the 
time when night plotters are busiest, and Stacy was on 
the alert patiently waiting and watching. The errand 
upon which he was bent, the hour, the place, and the 
associations it called forth, caused him to start and to 
tremble at every sound he heard, but still he never 
faltered in his purpose. At last he heard the sound 
of footsteps disturbing the silence of the night and 
approaching towards him. It was the chivalrous 
Cicero returning to his home, after spending a few 
sweet hours in the charmed society of his dusky Des- 
demona, who now lived at a neighboring house. 

“ Don’t be alarmed, Cicero. It is your friend 
Stacy. I have been taking a walk this evening.” 

“ I ’ze berry glad 'deed to see Massa Stacy. I ’ze 
been taking walk too.” 


256 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ It is a lovely evening. It must be late, for the 
moon has arisen.” 

“ It am ’bout two ’clock in de mornin,’ massa. You 
must hab taken long walk.” 

“ And you too. These evening walks, this season 
of the. year, are indeed refreshing to one shut up in 
the city all day.” 

“ I speck so, but I hab not been walking all de 
time. One ob my lady frien’s claimed my ’tention, 
ha, ha ! ” 

“ I am glad you have an opportunity and the in- 
clination to be sociable with your friends. It is a 
good thing, and knowing your disposition in this re- 
gard, and hoping to please you, I brought with me — 
thinking perhaps my walk might possibly reach as 
far as here, and that I might chance to see you — 
this beautiful neck- tie, and this fine ring which I wish 
to present to you as a token of our old-time friend- 
ship.” 

The neck-tie was red, very red, and the ring cheap, 
very cheap, but showy ; it was bright even in the 
moonlight, and Cicero receiving them, said : “ Massa 
Stacy, I am thousandly times ’bliged to you ; I tank 
you ’deed. I ’ze proud to ’ceive such beautiful pres- 
ents from such a man as Massa Stacy. Now I ’ll shine 
’mong dose lady frien’s, ha, ha ! ” 

“ I thought they would please you, and the next 
time you call upon Desdemona you must wear them, 
but please do not say who gave them to you. It 
might make the other servants jealous, you know. 
But I wished to show you my regard in some manner, 
and I thought you would be pleased with these gifts.” 

“ I shall be berry choice ob dem.” 

“ What a beautiful night I How gloriously light it 


ANOTHER NIGHTS WORK. 


257 

is, and how soft and mellow the balmy air. How 
pleasant would be the sight if we could look out upon 
the rising moon from the observatory. It would re- 
mind me of so many happy happy hours, and recall 
so many loved associations,’’ suggested the innocent 
and poetic Stacy. 

“ Do Massa Stacy wish to go upon de towah ? 1 

can show de way in no time,” said Cicero, anxious to 
show his gratitude to his benefactor and friend. 

“ It would indeed be lovely to be there in this beau- 
tiful light and look out upon the night, but I do not 
wish to trouble you. It is late, and I know you ought 
to be in bed ; some other time will do just as well.” 

“ No trouble ’t all massa, none ’t all, and dose moon- 
light nights do not last always.” 

“ But you must be tired. It is near morning.” 

“ Me tired ? Do you think it am hard work to go 
and see de girls ? Ha ! Cicero do not tire at dat 
air bisnes. Come, I ’ll run and get de key out ob 
Uncle George’s pocket, and we will go up de towah.” 

Don’t waken Uncle George, for he don’t like me. 
Wait, wait. One thing more. Is Miss Sibyl at 
home ? ” 

“ No, massa, and I will not wake Uncle George. 
De old fellow sleeps like a log.” 

“ You must promise me never to let any one know 
I have been here. It might displease the Doctor if 
he knew you let any one, even me, into the house in 
the night time.” 

“ Nebber fear, I keep close mouth ; I knows howto 
keep my place.” 

Cicero procured the key, and they entered the 
house. Stacy said he knew so much about the place 
that it was not necessary to make a light, and they 
17 


258 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


carefully wound their way to the observatory. They 
viewed the prospect and enjoyed the glorious moon- 
light. Cicero thought the moon looked very much as 
usual, but to Stacy it was arrayed in beauties never 
dreamed of before. He, however, was not so enrapt- 
ured as to be imprudent or to forget the object of his 
journey. All at once the moon seemed to become a 
very common object indeed. He forgot his ecstasy 
and suggested that Cicero return to the servants’ room, 
to ascertain if getting the key had not awakened 
Uncle George or the other servants, instructing him 
to make his way very carefully and still, and to listen 
for some time, that he might be sure their peaceful 
slumbers had not been disturbed. Cicero immedi- 
ately departed to perform this friendly mission. Now 
was the time for Stacy, and he did not lose one mo- 
ment. He quickly descended the stair-way to the 
landing in the garret, opened the door into it, lighted 
a match or taper prepared for the occasion, and glanc- 
ing about the room, discovered a wooden box with a 
board cover, and in a moment stood by its side. The 
unwonted light caused the gray old spiders to quickly 
seek their coverts, and even the dust seemed to rise 
up in arms at the intrusion, but Stacy stood beside 
the wooden box. His heart palpitated with agitation 
as he opened it. He was disturbing the quiet and 
the repose of years ; he was laying unholy hands upon 
the relics of one long since departed. Would his 
spirit appear and strike the invader dead ? Stacy did 
not know, but he trembled at the thought. He raised 
the cover and it fell back with a crash, causing a cloud 
of dust to rise, as if a host of bat- winged demons filled 
the very air. His light expired, and he thought he 
heard voices in the chamber. He listened, but his 


ANOTHER NIGHTS WORK. 


259 


beating heart was the only sound he heard. He re- 
lighted his taper and calmed himself. At length he 
mustered up courage to look into the box. He found 
it nearly filled with old papers of Parbery’s covered 
with dust. He found packages of letters to Parbery 
tied together, and into one of these he placed the 
sealed envelope containing the forged will, replaced the 
board cover, and hastened back to the observatory, 
where still the glorious moon was looking down upon 
the earth, but fortunately Cicero had not returned. 
His success had been complete. He had found the 
old box whose existence Steadman had faintly fore- 
told, and in it Parbery papers, as they had suspected, 
and in a package of these papers the will had been 
deposited. Proud of his success, and yet a little 
ashamed of his fright, bidding his dear Cicero a fond 
good-night, he hastened back to the city to inform his 
co-workers of the result of his errand. 

The next movement was to cause the forged will 
to be accidentally found and placed in the hands of 
Popper and Sharp as attorneys. This must be done 
by some disinterested third person, and as a mere 
chance or accident. The task was not easy. It re- 
quired management, dissimulation, deception, and 
skill. The conspirators must set the machinery at 
work to produce the desired result without creating a 
suspicion as to themselves ; they must be the cause 
that brings the will back to them, and yet be amazed 
at its coming ; they must manage the whole thing in 
the dark, and at the same time be astonished at the 
results produced. Again Stacy, because of his knowl- 
edge of the place and his acquaintance with the 
servants, must be the manipulator, and Bright, the 
superintendent of the grounds, the instrument. Bright 


260 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


had lived at the house and been a servant in the 
family during all the time of Stacy’s familiarity there, 
and they were well known to each other. Bright, as 
we have said, was a fellow of little education, but 
honest and faithful to his trust. Stacy commenced 
at once to cultivate his acquaintance with a view of 
becoming intimate with him. Of course the weak- 
minded Bright was flattered. He supposed that Stacy 
was to be the husband of Clare, and to be the friend 
and companion of a young lawyer who would soon be 
a member of the family of the Doctor was indeed an 
honor. Stacy called upon Bright frequently and the 
servant was delighted ; he gave him rides, and they 
became fast friends. For a whole month and more 
this sweet friendship continued, and it was a blissful 
period to Bright. The proper time had now arrived 
for more active measures. Stacy informed his friend 
of another dear friend of his by the name of Stead- 
man ; that his friend had lived at “ Evergreen Home ” 
when it was occupied by the Barbery family ; that 
he worked for Barbery in one of his stores, and made 
his home with the family for a long period of time, 
and that he now talked much of his room at the dear 
old homestead ; that he loved the place and every- 
thing connected therewith ; that he loved the Barbery 
family, but having failed to receive anything from 
the estate, as he knew Barbery intended he should, he 
was sorely disappointed, and commenced drinking to 
drown his troubles, and for a long time had led a 
drunken, dissipated life ; that he, Stacy, had found him 
in this fallen condition, and had undertaken the good 
work of reforming him ; that he had so far accom- 
plished his benevolent purpose as to cause him to 
talk with pleasure of his younger days, of his parents, 


ANOTHER NIGHTS WORK. 


261 


and old associates ; that he was helping him to build 
up his weakened morality and his lost virtue ; that 
he was gently leading him back to the walks of a 
useful life and the ways of respectability ; that he was 
again causing him to enjoy the pleasures of society 
and friends ; and by these kind words the simple- 
minded Bright became greatly interested in Stead- 
man and his welfare. And when Stacy told him 
that Steadman during the time he lived at Barbery’s 
was possessed of a picture of his mother, and a pack- 
age of letters from her, which he then prized very 
highly ; that these treasures were now lost, but that 
since his reformation and return to sobriety he had 
been seized with a strong desire to find the picture 
and the letters, which he now believed he had left 
somewhere about the Barbery house when he left 
there years ago, — Bright was at once ready to search 
for them, and offered the freedom of the house to 
Stacy or Steadman for that purpose. Stacy then in- 
formed Bright that Steadman was strongly impressed 
with the belief that the picture and the letters were 
in a certain old chest in the garret of the house, unless 
the same had been removed by the Barbery daughters, 
and that it would be a great satisfaction to the mind 
of his friend if he could know whether or not his im- 
pressions were true. This conversation occurred in 
the evening in front of the Evergreen Mansion, after 
they had been riding, and the subject had been men- 
tioned in a careless manner by Stacy as they were 
about separating for the night. 

At its conclusion Bright, having now become greatly 
interested, said, “ Bring Steadman here, and let him 
examine the old box at once.” 

“ He is not well. He gets out but little. Berhaps, 


262 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


after all, these impressions of his concerning his 
mother’s picture and letters are but the idle dreams 
of his weakened mind.” 

“ It is a very easy thing to examine the old chest if 
it is in the garret. I have a key in my pocket and 
will go at once and do it, if you will wait for me, or 
call Cicero, and let him mind the team and you go 
with me. Certainly it would be unkind to fail to do 
so little a thing for one in the condition of your 
friend.” 

“ I will mind ‘the team, and wait for you if you are 
determined to make the examination this evening.” 

How charmingly did the matter work. Bright was 
really making the search against the wish of Stacy. 

Bright hastened away on his errand, full of inter- 
est for Steadman, and hopeful of making a successful 
search for him. 

In the course of a quarter of an hour he returned 
to the carriage where Stacy was waiting, bringing 
with him a package of old letters, his countenance 
beaming with delight, and said : “I have not found 
the picture, but I believe these are the letters your 
friend so much desires to find.” 

“Where did you find them?” anxiously inquired 
Stacy. 

“ In the old chest, just as Steadman had thought.” 

“ It is strange Steadman’s impressions should have 
been so true. Can you bring a light, so that I can 
ascertain for certain if these are really the old letters 
of my friend’s mother. It would be an unexpected 
yet a lucky accident if we have found Steadman’s long 
lost treasures,” said Stacy in a careless manner, as 
though only interested for his friend. “Take the 
package with you, so that you may know it is the one 
you found in the chest.” 


ANOTHER NIGHTS WORK. 


263 


Bright hurried away for a light taking the package 
with him, and returning, Stacy examined the bundle 
of papers. 

“ Our friend,” said he, “ is not quite so fortunate 
as we had hoped. These are letters to Barbery I am 
sorry to say. What a disappointment. I had hoped 
to gladden the heart of poor Steadman, by present- 
ing him at least the letters of his loved mother.” 

Bright saw a large sealed envelope in the package, 
and requested Stacy to see what it contained. 

“ It is a sealed document, at any rate,” said Stacy; 
“ but I don’t know about breaking seals. Here is 
some writing upon it. Let us see what it says,” and 
he read, “ The last will and testament of Archibald 
Barbery, January 21, 1850.” 

“ How is this ? ” continued Stacy. “ That document 
never saw light before. Strange that we should have 
found a lost will in looking for a picture.” 

Bright, poor, simple-minded Bright, was agitated 
and said : “ That will may be of use to some one. . 
No harm can come to me for finding it, can there ? 
What shall we do with it ? ” 

Stacy desiring to play upon the fears of his tool, so 
as to insure his silence, said : “ Serious consequences 
may follow from this, and we had better keep pretty 
still about our discovery.” 

Bright, now pale with fear, anxiously said : “ Let us 
put it back in the old chest and say nothing about it. 

I want to get it out of my hands, and I must.” 

“I don’t know what should be done. This pre- 
sents a question in a branch of the law that I never 
thought of before. We ought to take the advice of 
lawyers what to do, for I am sure I do not know,” 
said Stacy. 


264 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ Well, then,” answered Bright, “ let us go at once 
to a law office. I am sorry I ever went to that old 
chest, for it did your friend no good, and may bring 
harm to us.” 

“ It will do no harm to us,” replied Stacy, “ if we 
act wisely in the premises. We will go at once to a 
law office, as you suggest, and will take the whole 
package with us, so that the lawyers can see where 
the will was found. I know two eminent attorneys, 
and we will drive directly to their office,” and they 
hastened away to the office of Popper and Sharp. 

Bright informed these eminent men of all the cir- 
cumstances attending the discovery of the will, and 
delivered it and the package of letters into their pos- 
session. They quieted his fears, and informed him 
that the will, or whatever the envelope contained, 
could not be opened except in the Probate Court, but 
that they would take the necessary measures to ascer- 
tain if the document was of any value. 

“One word,” whispered Stacy to Popper; “the 
envelope should be opened here in the presence of 
Bright, so that he can identify the will.” 

“ Right, my boy,” replied Popper. “ It shall be 
done. Here, Mr. Bright, open the envelope yourself. 
We may be able to inform you that it contains noth- 
ing of any value. If it should be a will, of course it 
goes to the Probate Office.” 

Bright opened the envelope and handed the paper 
to Popper. He examined it with great minuteness 
and said, “It is indeed the will of Archibald Par- 
beiy. It must go to Probate.” 

And now the conspiracy was completed, and all 
the testimony at hand to establish the will and Stead- 


ANOTHER NIGHTS WORK. 


265 


man’s claim to all the property of the late Mr. Par- 
bery. Every weak point had been fortified, every 
suspicion disarmed. The old will, although canceled 
and revoked, had written upon it a memorandum 
pointing directly to a new will, and a new will had 
been accidentally found by a disinterested third per- 
son while searching for something else, and it had 
been found among Parbery’s old papers, its natural 
place, carefully sealed and complete in every partic- 
ular. 

Bright had served the purpose of the conspirators 
and was dismissed, and the dear picture of Stead- 
man’s mother faded from the mind of Stacy in his 
greedy dreams of wealth which he now thought se- 
cure beyond question. 


266 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 
CLABE IN ETJKOPE. 

The voyage over the sea awakened in Clare the 
memories of childhood, and recalled from their sweet 
repose the early years of her humble life. Her old 
home washed by the waves, the beacon lights on the 
bluffs, her father and mother, her life among the 
fishermen, their stories and superstitions, signs and 
omens, and all the associations of her childhood that 
so linked and bound her pure heart to her dear par- 
ents, now departed, came teeming into her mind, yet 
the sights and the sounds of the mighty deep soothed 
and calmed her crushed and wounded spirit, as in the 
olden days they had driven away her childish griefs, 
and she saw in the misty light and the blue expanse 
the faint promise of hope, peace, and repose. Her 
early days had not been eventful. They had flowed 
on like a peaceful river, guarded and protected by 
her parents’ holy love, and now kind memory caused 
these days and years to march before her ; as if 
pitying her in the loss of her parents, they came to 
supply the place of those who had forever departed. 
Oh, the sanctified holy memories of childhood ! They 
are the gems that nestle in the lap of age, the jewels 
that adorn the crown of years, the lingering glories 
that withstand the devastations of Time. They form 
the net-work of love, hope, and faith, that circles 
round and round the earth, binding heart to heart and 


CLARE IN EUROPE. 


267 

sou] to soul, through all the ages and all time ; the 
sunshine of life, the parent of hope, the promise of 
futurity. As the sun of age declines, and the long- 
drawn shadows bespeak the approaching darkness, 
then the forgotten memories of youth appear and 
blaze in beauty to light the troubled way. 

Clare had lost none of her old ambition for study 
and the acquisition of knowledge. Her soul hun- 
gered and thirsted for the possession of all learning 
and all wisdom. To her exalted mind, true life was 
growth, development, progress. She looked upon 
Nature as an enchanted field, wherein God had re- 
vealed the majesty of his Omnipotence in the mys- 
terious agencies, powers, and forces that surround us. 
Into this domain of Infinite grandeur and beauty 
she would enter as an humble student, to learn some- 
thing of her Maker by studying His wonderful works. 
And thus life to her became sacred and divine, and 
labor was devoutest prayer. 

To her Nature was the book, and Man its inter- 
preter ; Nature the teacher, and Man the pupil ; and 
in every blade of grass she saw an unlearned lesson, 
in every trembling leaf a divine truth, in every peb- 
ble an ancient voice speaking to her its mysterious 
language, and in every rock a revelation. She would 
study these lessons, learn the meaning of these rev- 
elations, and listen to these voices, that they might 
lead her to the fountain of Wisdom and Knowledge. 
In the orderly march of nature, — the progress of the 
seasons ; the return of day and night ; the rain drop 
falling from the clouds ; the germination of the seed ; 
the formation of the flower and the ripened fruit, as 
well as in the storm and sunshine, — she saw Infinite 


268 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


order ; and contemplating the sublime harmonies of 
creation, her soul was exalted with the thought that 
a mind of Infinite power, wisdom, and goodness pre- 
sided over the universe ; and thus she learned to rev- 
erence nature, and to look upon it as the grand store- 
house of knowledge. She walked the daisied fields 
as if in the presence of the Infinite One, and in the 
light of a sublime faith and reason looked through 
nature up to nature’s God. 

Not alone did she reverence nature, but likewise 
man, the mystery and enigma of creation, and she 
would study the history of the human intellect, and 
learn of the labors and the experience of great hu- 
manity, that she might know more of herself. She 
would trace the course of the human mind on its 
march of growth and progress, and witness its tri- 
umphs and its conquests, that she might learn how to 
think and how to reason ; and she would study the 
thoughts and civilizations of different nations and 
peoples in widely diversed and distant cycles, pe- 
riods, and ages, that she might discover the laws of 
progress and growth. 

She was gifted in song, and the harmonies of sweet 
music intoxicated her soul with delight. She heard 
music in the solemn moaning of the sea, in the sigh- 
ing of the wind, in the solitude of the forest, and in 
the thunderbolt. And in her grand conception of 
sound she made every note uttered by the million 
voices of nature but parts of a majestic anthem 
sounding through the spheres, forever and forever, 
the harmonious song of Infinity. 

Thus thirsting and longing to acquire all knowl- 
edge and all goodness, she stepped upon the shores 
of Europe, as if entering a new world of thought, in 


CLARE IN EUROPE. 


269 


whose ripened and expanded fields she hoped to 
gather all the gems of wisdom that the labor of ages 
had produced. She stood in the very presence of the 
great Past, the products of thousands of years of 
labor, toil, and struggle at her feet ; and she walked 
forth as if in the cemetery of the ages, amidst the 
tombs of forgotten follies, and the monuments of 
genius and glorious thought. Upon every side she 
beheld ancient seats of learning and culture, within 
whose classic halls were gathered and preserved the 
intellectual labor of all humanity, and she thought 
though men might pass away, here they were im- 
mortal and could never die. 

Amidst these trophies of genius, surrounded by 
these triumphs and conquests of the mind, she felt 
herself an atom, a mere cipher, yet the sight inspired 
her. The opportunity was at hand when she could 
stand at the feet of the masters of philosophy, liter- 
ature, science, and song, and breathe the air of classic 
learning and culture, and hither she would repair to 
indulge in the pleasures of intellectual efforts. 

Doctor Hume and his sister had been troubled be- 
cause of Clare’s feeble health and depressed condition 
of mind since her father’s death, and they were re- 
joiced to see her old enthusiasm for study returning, 
and they anxiously aided her efforts in this direction. 
It was arranged that after spending some time in 
travel in England and on the Continent, she should 
enter school at Berlin, to perfect herself in vocal and 
instrumental music, and other higher branches of 
study. And as the Doctor and his sister could not 
be separated from her, they were to accompany her 
there, and remain while the course of her studies 
continued. 


270 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


The charm of early summer attracted them to ru- 
ral England, and they did not mistake the highway to 
pleasure and enjoyment. Ages of patient toil and in- 
dustry have reduced every foot of tillable ground to 
subjection, and the beautiful hedge-rows surrounding 
the fields give to the country the appearance of a 
magnificent garden under the highest state of cultiva- 
tion. Upon every side are fields of waving grain, 
fertile pasture lands thronging with fattened cattle, 
green woods ; and in the rich bottom lands here and 
there are the ruins of old castles, relics of an iron 
age, when little attention was paid to the pursuits of 
agriculture. 

Amidst these scenes Clare, the Doctor, and his 
sister spent many days, breathing the perfumed air of 
glorious summer, and their enjoyment was heightened 
and increased by being surrounded by objects of rare 
interest. Here and there were foot-prints of Cedric 
the Saxon, Harold the Dauntless, and William the 
Norman. This old church, overgrown with ivy, had 
a history reaching far back in the past ; the cemetery 
adjoining it was filled with names carved upon the 
rude stones that were familiar in the age of the Con- 
quest ; and this farm-house, embowered in a grove of 
trees, surrounded by hedges, gardens, and flowers, 
once gave shelter to Thomas a Becket when perse- 
cuted by Henry the Second. 

Clare was particularly charmed with the old castles, 
whose majestic ruins recalled an almost forgotten age, 
and she learned the history of many of them, and in 
her imagination called forth their mailed warriors and 
sent them in pursuit of deeds of chivalry and adven- 
ture. 

Leaving these delightful scenes, they journeyed 


CLARE IN EUROPE. 


271 


towards London, and entered the great city at the 
West End, and at once found themselves in the midst 
of the splendors of the world’s metropolis. “ The great 
associations of London with the history and literature 
of England invests the streets, particularly those in 
the less modern portions of the town, with an inde- 
scribable interest. Hardly any of them can be passed 
without treading upon the great memories of the past. 
Some of the streets teem with the remembrances of 
Oliver Cromwell, Hampden, and Milton, the heroes 
and poets of religious liberty ; others, with those of 
Bacon, Newton, Spenser, and Shakespeare, the think- 
ers and poets of humanity.” 

And here was Clare, the poor fisherman’s daughter, 
walking the same streets, and viewing some of the 
same sights that must have greeted the anxious, lov- 
ing eyes of Edith the Fair, when she hastened to be- 
hold her Harold crowned King. Surrounded by 
these associations of deathless interest ; breathing the 
air of history, romance, and song ; beholding the very 
sights, and treading the ground where these sover- 
eigns in the world of literature lived and reigned , — 
Clare called forth from its charmed retreat, the Lon- 
don of Shakespeare, Dr. Johnson, and Goldsmith, and 
the creation was a thing of beauty, bedecked and 
clothed with traditions old and curious, legends ro- 
mantic and beautiful, fancies marvelous and strange. 
Wandering amidst these associations that crown the 
Saxon name with a coronet of sparkling jewels, she 
felt herself in the presence of the Seers of great hu- 
manity. To her, London had a glorious inner life, 
far removed from the thronging confusion of the 
present hour, and she sought the companionship of 
the Past, and called from their tombs the great names 


272 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


that have made England famous, and the English 
tongue the household word of half the earth. 

From London they journeyed to Stratford-upon- 
Avon, the birth and burial place of Shakespeare. 
From thence to Newstead Abbey, the family seat of 
Lord Byron. And now the fading landscape lingers 
lovingly upon the delighted sight while they direct 
their course to Abbotsford, where lived and died Sir 
Walter Scott. Beloved Abbotsford, from whose hal- 
lowed ground rises a halo of everlasting glory, whose 
beauty glows with ever-increasing brightness as the 
passing years add their triumphs to the great de- 
parted ; revered home of one of the best and greatest 
names in all the earth, the Alma Mater of the “ Lady of 
the Lake,” “Ellen Douglas,” and “ Jeanie Deans,” his 
immortal children, — cherished friends around every 
hearth-stone where civilization is known and fostered, 
— here in this inspired atmosphere, and feasting upon 
the legends of Scottish song and story, our tourists 
lingered as if at the gates of Paradise. 


BERLIN. 


273 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

BERLIN. 

A WHOLE year spent in travel in England and on 
the Continent, and Clare with her friends had arrived 
at Berlin, and was preparing to enter school there. 
Her early promise of beauty was now a happy frui- 
tion. The bud had blossomed into a flower of rarest 
loveliness. The memory of Richard still lingered with 
her, a treasured picture of the long ago, and his little 
gift which she still wore upon her finger, she thought 
might form one of the bright links in the golden 
chain that united her to the other world, for five long 
eventful years had rolled away since she received it 
from his hand, and though she had remembered his 
parting message, no tidings came from him. But 
who does not cherish in the chambers of the memory 
some precious gift and the sacred associations cluster- 
ing around it, — some sweet token of regard, a faded 
flower, a tress of hair, a broken ring, an old book, 
a loving look, or some dear word of friendship spoken 
so long ago ; and these secret hidden treasures, these 
gems and jewels of the heart, so guarded and pro- 
tected, are the landmarks of that precious inner life 
that we all live, and which controls and fashions our 
destiny and our fate. 

Thus the sunshine and the shadows of the old life 
clung to her; thus childhood’s dreams, hopes, and 
fancies, though obscured now and shaded by the blaz- 
18 


274 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


ing light of the later period, yet they lingered lovingly 
in the background of the picture, and gave to it form 
and beauty ; and thus forgetting naught of the past, 
at the beginning of the second year in Europe she 
entered one of the highest schools of Berlin to further 
perfect herself in music, the languages, and the higher 
mathematics. The Doctor procured a furnished house, 
that he might not be separated from Clare while she 
pursued her studies, and thus their life commenced in 
this famed capital. 

The Doctor’s exalted reputation as a physician had 
gone before him, — indeed his fame in the medical 
world extended over two continents, — and soon after 
his arrival at Berlin he was engaged to deliver a course 
of lectures to the medical students who were attend- 
ing college in the city. The college was far famed, 
and its professors were eminent men. Their reputa- 
tion, and that of the school, had attracted thither 
young physicians from all over the world. The Doc- 
tor soon became acquainted with the students, and it 
was not very long before the marked ability and the 
pleasing face and manners of one of them attracted 
his particular attention. His name was Edward Pal- 
grave, and his home was Philadelphia. In personal 
appearance he was tall and rather slim, having a 
large, intellectual head, and a face which, always 
pleasing to look upon, showed evidences of sterling 
character. His address was elegant ; his fluent, easy 
conversation showed the highest culture; while his 
manners were those of a polished gentleman. He 
belonged to an old and wealthy family in his native 
city, and was thirty-three years of age ; yet for one so 
young he had earned a wide reputation in his profes- 
sion, especially in surgery, where he scarcely had an 
equal. 


BERLIN. 


275 

This young man and the Doctor soon became 
warmly attached to each other, being drawn together 
by a similarity of tastes, and by the strange affinity 
that so fascinates and unites men of genius the world 
over. 

The lectures of the Doctor were delivered once in 
three weeks, and after the third lecture he invited 
Palgrave to his house under the pretense of further 
elucidating a branch of the subject to which the lec- 
ture referred, but in truth his real purpose was to 
cause a meeting of the young physician and Clare. 
The enthusiasm, the far-reaching intellect and ability, 
and the elegant manners and bearing of Palgrave, had 
won the Doctor’s highest regard, and he secretly 
hoped that Clare might be equally charmed. The 
old Doctor loved Clare his “ child ” as he would have 
loved his Laura had she been with him, and he looked 
forward to her future with the same anxious solicitude 
as he would have done to that of an only daughter. 
Clare was the precious flower of his old age ; in her 
his old life centered and found befitting repose, after 
a troubled voyage of more than sixty years, and now 
his absorbing care was for her future, her happiness 
and peace. 

The Doctor had nearly completed the further ex- 
planation of his lecture, when Clare, having finished 
the practice of her music lesson for the day, under the 
eye of one of the masters of the art, came hurrying 
home to meet the Doctor. She hastened into his 
study to greet him. She did not observe Palgrave, 
who happened to be concealed from her by the open 
door of a large book-case, and bestowing upon her 
kind benefactor her accustomed kiss, inquired after 
his health, and if his lecture had been as kindly re- 


276 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


ceived as usual. The Doctor replying, said : “My 
child, you are always so kind and so thoughtful ; but 
you know I do not often speak of my own efforts, at 
least not with praise. This time I am relieved from 
answering your inquiry, for there is a gentleman pres- 
ent who heard the lecture, and he can speak of it 
with better propriety than myself. Let me introduce 
you. Mr. Palgrave, this is Clare Lincoln, my only 
child.” 

Palgrave greeted Clare with easy grace, and said : 
“ Permit me to answer your inquiry concerning the 
Doctor’s lecture. I can assure you I listened to it 
with the very greatest pleasure and profit, and the 
Doctor has been so kind as to invite me to his library 
to hear him further upon the same subject, which I 
have been doing for the last hour and more,” 

“ Pardon me, gentlemen, for interrupting you,” said 
Clare : “ I thought the Doctor alone when I entered 
the room. I will leave you for the present.” 

But the Doctor insisted upon her remaining, say- 
ing that he had entirely finished all he had to say 
upon the subject of the lecture, and Clare then in- 
vited them to the parlor, and accompanied them 
thither. Soon she entertained them with music on 
the piano, and never before in all his life had Palgrave 
been so enraptured and charmed by the melody of 
sweet sounds ; and when she poured forth her soul in 
glorious song, filling the room with infinite harmony, 
he felt inspired with a new life, and thought he had 
caught an echo from the realms of Paradise. 

Palgrave still lingered, although his visit had been 
greatly prolonged, and the shades of evening were 
fast approaching ; yet he heeded not the flight of time, 
for then and there a new world had opened upon 


BERLIN. 


277 


his enchanted view, full of heavenly beauty and glory, 
as if the dazzling sun had risen upon black midnight, 
tinting the hills and the fields with glorious light and 
driving the darkness away. 

When the music had ceased, their conversation 
glided easily along into the delighful world of liter- 
ature, the pleasures of study, and the beauty of a well- 
balanced cultured mind. Dickens was Clare’s favorite 
author, and ‘‘ David Copperfield ” her favorite story ; 
Palgrave came forward as the champion of Auerbach, 
and maintained that Dickens had written nothing to 
surpass “ On the Heights,” and being a true American^ 
put in a good word for Howells’s “ Chance Acquaint- 
ance,” and the other writings of that gifted author; 
while the Doctor insisted that “Ten Thousand a 
Year ” was the best story ever written. They recalled 
their favorite characters in either of these stories : Tit- 
tlebat Titmouse, Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, Aubery, 
Uriah Heep, Agnes, Peggotty, Walpurga, and Irma; 
when at last Palgrave said: “ The creation of either 
of these characters bespeaks genius and a profound 
knowledge of human nature. No story is of any con- 
sequence whatever, unless something can be learned 
therefrom. The characters must not be overdrawn, 
but must be true to nature, and illustrate some char- 
acteristic of the human mind or of the human heart, 
and either character we have named are living vol- 
umes, taken from the every-day book of life.” 

“ Your remark is true,” assented the Doctor ; “ but 
in our present state of literary culture, the sensa- 
tional, the startling, the extreme, and unnatural is 
more sought after than the learned and elegant liter- 
ary production. I have no objection to novel writ- 
ing or novel reading, providing we do not write and 


278 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


read insipid nonsense, from which no ideas and no 
good thoughts can be gleaned. To widte about or 
read about impossible characters, with impossible cir- 
cumstances and conditions surrounding them, is the 
merest waste of time and talent. But there is a pleas- 
ure in discovering a brilliant thought, whether it be 
found in a novel, an essay, or a sermon.” 

“ Yes,” said Palgrave, “ and there is yet more 
pleasure in being the author of such a thought. 
Every idea born in the brain is a new inspiration. 
It adds so much to our lives. We live more and bet- 
ter for thinking. What can equal the pleasure of 
thought and study ; and when we have worked for 
days, and it may be for years, upon a given problem, 
and finally discover the law that solves it, how pro- 
found is our happiness and satisfaction. No other 
pleasure can equal the joy that comes from a new 
thought or a new idea. Harvey, when he discovered 
the circulation of the blood ; Newton, when he revealed 
the laws of gravitation ; or Franklin, when he tamed 
the lightning of the clouds, lived more in one short 
hour than is given to most of us to live in a whole 
lifetime. Think one profound thought and a new 
world is presented to our view.” 

“ Thinking,” said the Doctor, “ is life, and the want 
of thought is death. Thought and reflection is the 
noblest employment, the most exalted labor ; but we 
must learn to think correctly, and for this purpose I 
would go to the masters of the professions, who have 
produced profound books in law, theology, and medi- 
cine, rather than to the novel writer or the poet.” 

“ It seems to me,” said Clare, “ that it is not material 
where a good thought is found if we are benefited by 
it; and I believe by the study of Dickens, Shake- 


BERLIN. 


279 


speare, Longfellow, Whittier, Bryant, Howells, or 
Holmes, we can learn very much of ourselves. They 
are the expounders of human nature, and the more 
we know of others the better we comprehend our- 
selves. But thinking, to bear the fruits of which you 
speak, must be directed into the right channels, for 
the world of evil actions is always preceded by and 
is the effect of a world of wicked thoughts.” 

The lengthening shadows in their unceasing jour- 
ney around the earth had appeared and spread them- 
selves upon the landscape, and had passed away, and 
the stars shone out clear and bright, when the con- 
versation ceased, and Palgrave arose to take his de- 
parture. His mind, usually so clear and so calm, was 
swimming with thoughts, an ocean of thoughts, never 
before dreamed of ; and as he looked out upon the 
night there was no darkness, for the luminary that 
lighted up his soul filled the whole earth with a di- 
vine radiance that nothing could dim or obscure. 

Promising to renew his visit, in response to the ur- 
gent request of the Doctor, he returned to his room. 
The lecture and the subsequent elucidation had passed 
from his mind, and he could think of naught but 
Clare, her loveliness, her varied accomplishments, and 
her wonderfully gifted mind. Never before had his 
soul been so moved to its very foundations ; never 
before had his evenly balanced head been so agitated 
and disturbed. He continued his visits. He became 
passionately fond of the Doctor’s subsequent explana- 
tion of his lectures, — indeed he forgot the lecture in 
his eagerness to hear it further explained. 

It was the old, old story, repeated and renewed in 
endless variety since the morning of creation, yet ever 
and always the same, and will be forever and forever. 


280 


. CLARK LINCOLN. 


It was the same old, old feeling that ever has and ever 
will cause the peasant and the potentate, the un- 
learned and the wise, the poor and the rich, to forget 
everything else in the worship and adoration of one 
human face and form. Palgrave loved Clare. He 
had placed himself within the radiance of her loveli- 
ness, and without any warning his heart was lost, and 
he worshiped the very earth upon which she trod. 
He had the nerve and the skill to perform the most 
difficult and delicate surgical operations ; he was calm 
in the presence of death and danger ; he was brave 
where others faltered ; he could quiet the fears of 
others by his own resolution, and he inspired firm- 
ness by his own unfaltering purpose, but in the pres- 
ence of Clare he was agitated and trembling, falter- 
ing and weak as a child. 

The Doctor knew all this, and was not displeased, 
for in Palgrave he saw a young man of remarkable 
ability and promise ; a ripe scholar, with an upright 
honest character ; of the same profession as his own, 
which he so much enjoyed, full of kindness and sym- 
pathy, and belonging to an old, wealthy, and highly 
respectable family ; and if he must part with Clare, he 
knew of no one with whom he could intrust her life 
and happiness with more safety than Palgrave. 

The lectures continued. The masters .in music 
and the professors of the languages and mathematics 
were leading Clare into the mysteries of the high- 
est culture, while Palgrave continued to travel the 
troubled, mazy labyrinth of undeclared and concealed 
love. He pursued his studies patiently and with un- 
faltering devotion, but Clare permeated his life ; she 
was in the air he breathed ; she clothed his dreams 
with beauty ; she peopled his future with bright vis- 


BERLIN. 281 

ions of delight; she glorified his life and sanctified 
his ambition. 

But this beautiful idol was all unconscious of his 
feeling, and what if he could never be to her more 
than a friend ? The thought distressed him. It 
sometimes filled his soul with agony. At last he 
could endure the doubt and uncertainty no longer, 
and resolved manfully to declare his love. When he 
first met Clare it was June, and the earth was loaded 
with roses, and their breath perfumed the air ; and 
now it was nearly June again, the buds were swell- 
ing with promise, and the balmy air and the gentle 
showers were again calling forth the verdure of 
spring. During all this time he had loved silently, 
yet with unceasing devotion. He had met Clare al- 
most daily, had listened to her glorious music and 
song, had walked with her in the park and heard 
her dwell with enthusiastic delight upon her studies. 
She was absorbed in the mysteries of her daily lessons, 
and felt unrestrained in the presence of Palgrave, 
for he was a student like herself in the pursuit of 
knowledge. She admired his ability, for he stood 
high in his profession, and was learned in all the 
higher studies, and she felt at liberty to call upon 
him to aid her in any difiiculties she encountered in 
her lessons. He was a friend of the Doctor ; he had 
been made welcome at their home; he came thither 
frequently in pursuit of his professional education, 
and she learned to call upon him for help in her 
studies as she would have called upon an elder 
brother. 

Palgrave was too refined and too sensitive to betray 
by any look, word, or action the feeling that was con- 
suming his soul ; but the fire of love cannot always be 


282 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


controlled ; it cannot burn on and on in silence con- 
suming itself. The dreaded evening arrived in which 
he had determined his fate should be decided; this 
fearful suspense was wearing out his life, and he 
could endure it no longer. He and Clare were alone. 
Perhaps the Doctor had purposely retired to his 
library that he might not disturb the freedom of their 
conversation. Clare had just finished playing one of 
Beethoven’s grand masterpieces, in the execution of 
which her soul seemed to have been wafted to the 
land of spirits, and had seated herself in an easy- 
chair. Palgrave pale and trembling with an emotion 
he could not control, while his eyes beamed with an 
unusual light, drew near to her, and with a mighty 
effort said : “ Clare, let me take your hand, for I shall 
not falter in my purpose if inspired by your touch. 
Many moons have waxed and waned since first we 
met, and during all this time I have been in Paradise, 
listening to heavenly music and plucking flowers of 
divine beauty. You have created this Eden for me, 
and I love you ! Will you, oh, will you be all my 
own forever ? ” 

Clare looked at him in utter amazement. He with- 
drew his hand; his eyes were on fire; the room 
whirled and whirled, and his poor head was confused 
with a thousand thoughts. Hearing no response from 
Clare, he said : “ Pardon me ! Pardon him who lives 
and breathes only upon hope, faint though it may be ! 
I should not have been so abrupt. I should have 
given you warning of the great secret I have so long 
and so lovingly concealed.” 

And yet Clare did not reply. She was lost in com- 
plete astonishment. He had given no sign to reveal 
his love, and it came crashing down upon her like a 


BERLIN. 


283 


thunderbolt. At length she broke the embarrassing 
silence and said : “We have long been friends to- 
gether ; we have pursued our studies side by side. 
You have assisted me as a kind brother would have 
done, and I never dreamed of what you have so care- 
fully concealed.” 

How kind she was and how calm. But Palgrave 
felt a chill flashing through his frame, for if she loved 
how could she appear so cold, so dignified, so calm, 
and he cried out in the agony of his soul : “ Oh, let me 
hope ! Do not crush me ! Do not kill me ! Do not 
change my agony to blank despair ! ” 

Clare now was agitated, for Palgrave was her dear 
friend. And he had been so kind to her and so 
thoughtful. She could but feel the gravity of the sit- 
uation, and at length said : “ My dear friend, your pro- 
posal is so sudden and so entirely unexpected that 
you must give me time to consider it. I have been 
very happy with you, and I am very grateful to you 
for your kindness to me. Wisely you have taken 
many months to make up your mind to say what you 
have said to-night, and you must permit me to treat 
your proposal with equal seriousness by duly consid- 
ering it.” 

“ Oh, I cannot leave you thus. Do but give me 
one gleam of hope upon which to feed my famished 
soul,” the unbounded love of his great heart trem- 
bling upon the words he uttered. 

Then Clare very kindly, even compassionately, said : 
“ I say, dear friend, for to-night, that we have been 
very happy together, and I hope that our friendship 
may continue forever.” 

He soon left the house promising to come again in 
a short time to receive his doom. He rushed forth 


284 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


wildly into the night to repeat over a thousand times 
every word Clare had uttered, and to recall again 
and again every kindly look or expression that she 
had ever bestowed upon him during all the time of 
their acquaintance. He called upon the stars to give 
him back tidings of his fate ; he whispered to the 
wind to reveal his future, but it swept mournfully by 
and answered not a word. 

Call it not a weakness ; denounce it not as a fault ; 
do not suppose the gifted intellect can tower above 
the influence of love, for it permeates creation and 
conquers the whole earth. The sage and the states- 
man, the philosopher and the poet, the money king 
and the hungry beggar, the villain and the saint, all 
bend prostrate before this mighty potentate. 

Love is King. It rules the world. It dwells 
around the fireside and erects the family altar. It 
inspires ambition, quickens the mind, and enlarges 
the soul, filling it with benevolence and charity, cour- 
age and hope. It converts earth info heaven ; God 
IS LOVE. 

But love unsatisfied — despairing, hopeless love — 
is the consuming flame that is never quenched, the 
gnawing worm that never dies. 


THE ANSWER. 


285 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE ANSWER. 

A WEEK passed. To Palgrave it was a period of 
unutterable anxiety. He thought his destiny hung 
trembling upon the impending word to be spoken, 
and that the hours as they passed wearily away were 
hurrying him to his doom. He was feverish and ex- 
cited, and could not rest. The nights brought 
troubled dreams, and the days had lost their light. 
He was disheartened and discouraged. The dark 
shadow of inevitable failure beclouded his hope, and 
his visions of happiness and joy unspeakable had 
vanished forever. He felt that Clare did not love 
him. The chilling thought withered and blasted his 
life ; it almost caused his heart to cease its troubled 
beating. Could she have been so calm, so dignified, 
so thoughtful, if her soul was on fire with the love 
that was consuming his own ? No. All devouring 
love does not hesitate ; it does not argue ; it does not 
consider ; it knows no doubts or fears ; and yet, 
thought he, Clare is not a giddy, thoughtless girl ; her 
mind is mature ; her judgment perfect ; her intellect 
almost divine, and evidently she appreciates the im- 
portance of the decision she is to make, and she shows 
her superiority by her caution. And thus his hope 
would triumph over a mountain of difficulties and 
put at defiance the dictates of his reason ^Blessed 
Hope ! It is the charm and the light of this troubled 
world, 


286 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


At other times his faith would flee away and the 
agony of blank despair seize his soul. He was al- 
most delirious, and if hope sometimes tinted his world 
with divine beauty, spreading a halo of glory around 
the pathway of his life, at other times despair, full of 
darkness and dread forebodings, enveloped him within 
its dark embrace. He walked his room from morn- 
ing until night repeating over and over again Clare’s 
parting words, “ I say, dear friend, for to-night, that 
we have been very happy together, and I hope our 
friendship may continue forever.” Was that all ? 
Only friends ! Only united by that common bond of 
sympathy and affection that should bind together all 
mankind? Only friends, while his soul was burning 
with a love that made the most devoted friendship an 
iceberg? The thought froze his distracted mind and 
sent a shiver of despair through his aching heart. 

Nor did Clare pass a happy week. She did not 
love Palgrave. Though from a worldly and selfish 
view he was all that could be desired, combining 
within himself great ability, high standing in his pro- 
fession and in his social relations, an abundance of 
wealth, a spotless character, a polished education, fas- 
cinating manners, a good face and a kind heart, yet 
Clare, ever true to the higher attributes of her nature, 
decided at once to reject his proposal. It would have 
been perjury to have done otherwise. She thought 
wisely that no qualities, circumstances, or surround- 
ings can supply the place of love in the marriage 
vow. She would not barter her soul for wealth, posi- 
tion, influence, or social standing. She would be true 
to her own heart. She would be honest with herself 
and with Palgrave. She could not give love for love, 
and she would not receive his unless she could bestow 


THE ANSWER. 


287 


all her own in return. When she married there 
should be supreme truth and supreme equality be- 
tween herself and her husband, a sanctified union of 
hearts, that no surroundings and no circumstances 
could sever or change. But to marry Palgrave, feel- 
ing as she did, simply an admiring friend, would de- 
fraud him, because she could not bestow what he had 
the right to expect and receive ; and though he could 
give her a beautiful home, troops of devoted friends, 
and all the comforts that wealth could command, yet 
her heart would starve amidst all this splendor. No. 
She must reject his proposal. She brushed away her 
poverty, the fact that she was an orphan, her depend- 
ence upon others for her support, and resolved that 
she would not perjure her soul to gain the wealth of 
all the world. Her decision would give her friend 
great pain ; this she could foresee ; but she must be 
true to herself — true to her own heart. 

Before informing him of her irrevocable conclusion 
she sought an interview with the Doctor. A shadow 
of trouble clouded her brow. The Doctor, observing 
it, said : “ Tell me, my child, the cause of your anxiety. 
You are not usually happy this morning. It gives 
me pain to see you in trouble. What distresses my 
child?” 

“ I am glad you have almost discovered my errand 
without my mentioning it. I came to you especially 
to inform you of a very serious matter that has lately 
overtaken me. Mr. Palgrave has asked me to be his 
wife.” 

“ My Clare to leave me ! The only comfort of my 
old age ! Yes, yes, I ought to have expected it and 
been prepared. She is so beautiful and so good, and 
I did invite him here especially to see her,” said the 


288 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Doctor, as if talking to himself, and in a moment 
added, responding to Clare, “ Indeed, this is a serious 
matter to you and to me, and I do not wonder now 
at your thoughtful appearance. You have yet given 
no answer? ” 

“No, but my answer is formed unless you direct 
me to make a different one. You are my kind father 
and friend, and I pray to be able to observe and to 
act upon your every wish and desire ; I am ready to 
make any sacrifices for you, for I love you as a 
father,” said Clare now completely overcome with 
feeling. 

“ My dear child, you shall make no sacrifices for me. 
You shall not remain with me, to be the light and 
comfort of my age, for the best of daughters leave 
their parents to go with their husbands, and this is 
natural and right. I have foreseen that Palgrave 
would propose marriage to you, and had hoped that 
he would, for indeed he is a treasure. I could willingly 
have given my own Laura to him, and with equal so- 
licitude for your happiness I could willingly intrust 
yours to him. But his proposal, prepared as I was to 
hear it, startles me, and unprepared as I know you 
must have been, I do not wonder at your surprise. 
You have not informed me what answer you propose 
to give him. Do not consider me at all in the mat- 
ter. I am the one to make sacrifices, not you.” 

“ Do not say that. Doctor. Do not say you are 
willing he should take me,” said Clare, and then ris- 
ing from her seat, and placing her arms around the 
Doctor’s neck, continued, while the tears were flowing 
down her cheek : “I am so glad you do not wish me 
to leave you. I am glad you cling to me. May I 
not always remain with you, and be your child, your 


THE ANSWER. 


289 


Clare, forever? Say that I may always remain with 
you and be your happy, loving child while yet we 
both live.” 

“ Yes, yes, you shall always be my child, my own 
Clare, and no husband shall ever deprive me of the 
privilege of calling you so ; but you astonish me be- 
yond conception. Instead of asking to remain with 
me, I had expected you to ask my consent to your 
marriage. My selfishness would always keep you 
with me, and yet I am ready to sacrifice my own 
pleasure to your good.” 

Seeing that he did not yet fully comprehend the 
situation, or that he disliked to think he did, Clare 
said, “ I do not love Mr. Palgrave.” The Doctor 
hung his head in thought. One word had spoiled his 
fond visions and he was disappointed, for though he 
clung to Clare as does a loving parent to his only 
daughter, yet in his old dreams he had already taken 
Palgrave into his household as a son by a virtue of 
his marriage with Clare. At length he said, “ I had 
hoped fate would have formed your answer favorably 
to my friend.” Still, in deep meditation, he continued : 
“Yes, it is fate. We are not masters of ourselves. 
The dictates of an uncontrollable passion fashions our 
destinies, and the reason and the judgment are en- 
tirely set at naught. And this is right. A marriage 
dictated by reason alone would be a cold, formal af- 
fair, and not very likely to endure the vicissitudes of 
a lifetime, but would be snapped asunder like a rope 
of sand when the times of trial and hardship came, as 
come they do to every marriage ; while a union of love 
is stronger than time ; it is uncontrolled by surrounding 
circumstances ; its fires burn brightest in adversity ; 
it is strongest in trial ; it is exempt from the influ- 
19 


290 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


ences of time ; it knows no decay and no death, but 
it lives and glows lighting up the whole earth, the 
polar star that guides to eternity and to heaven.” 

“ Can we acquire love ? Can we learn to love 
where our judgment dictates that it would be best? 

If so, give me to your friend, and I will devote my 
life to learning the great mystery.” 

“ No, love comes unasked, unbidden, and it cannot 
be dispensed with and thrown away, neither can it 
be acquired. It is born in heaven ; it is part of our 
being : we cannot hunt for and find it, neither can we 
lose it.” I 

“ I had formed the same opinion,” said Clare, “ for j 
to me, love is not a thing ob choice ; we love where 
we must, but cannot where we will. Palgrave is my 
dear friend. He has a pure heart and a noble mind, , 
and is surrounded by all the attractions of wealth, | 
position, and influence ; yet I cannot love him with a i 
blind, devoted love, such as a wife should give to her * 
husband. If he were my brother I could be a de- , 
voted sister to him ; but to be his wife while my heart 
is not satisfied would be a living death to me.” \ 

“ Yes, yes,” replied the Doctor, “ better by far 
that you marry a chimney-sweep, if you love him | 
truly, than a king without love. I had hoped my | 
friend would satisfy your whole soul, but these hearts 
of ours are capricious things.” i 

“Would marriage bring the love of which you i 
speak ? ” inquired Clare. i 

“ No. Marriage should be the consummation of j 
love, and not a wild experiment, to ascertain if it • 
cannot be found. Such a marriage might barter | 
away one’s life for dust and dross. No, my child. | 
Try no experiments, and pray do not think I wish 
you to make any such sacrifice to please me.” 


THE ANSWER. 


291 


There was a pause. The Doctor was still engaged 
in thought. At length a new idea seemed to dawn 
upon him, and he looked up to Clare and said : “ My 
child, you have once or twice spoken of your old 
teacher, I believe Pembroke was his name, and you 
once told me he gave you this little ring that you 
cling to so tenderly, when a mere child. Do you 
know anything of him these later years ? ” 

Clare blushingly replied : “ I have not seen or heard 
of my old teacher since the evening he gave me this 
ring, now more than six years ago, and I have no 
expectations of ever seeing him again. If living, he 
must have forgotten me, and I have no thought that 
I shall ever see him again.” 

“ And yet,” inquired the Doctor, “ do you not 
hope that you may ? ” 

“ If I should now see him he would be but a 
stranger. My recollection of him is like a dream, 
but it is a beautiful dream, and I cherish it most 
fondly, for he is my ideal of perfect manhood. But 
he is naught to me but an ideal, a mere picture ; and 
our long separation, my very imperfect acquaintance 
with him, and my imagination have produced this re- 
sult. Very likely if I had seen him frequently my 
dreams would have all been driven away. This little 
ring, and the associations connected with it, are all 
that bind me to him, and as for myself, he must have 
forgotten me long ago. We are but strangers, and 
could not be more widely separated. But I will an- 
swer your question. I hope he is living, and that I 
may see him again.” 

“ I hope, my dear child, that you may, for as I read 
the human heart he has all your own, and I hope 
when you find him he will be free to bestow as much 
as he receives.” 


292 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“I have no such thought or expectation. Very- 
likely long before this he has found a wife, and a 
happy home, and if he has he will still continue to 
be the beautiful dream of my childhood. No, no. 
Do not think I reject Palgrave in the hope of again 
meeting Pembroke. I have no such thought. I saw 
Richard Pembroke only as a child sees her teacher, 
and if my maturing years have clothed him with all 
the attributes of beauty and manhood, it is but a 
dream, a fancy, and I look back to his face as I 
would think of a beautiful picture seen long ago, and 
try to recall its colors, shape, and form. He is a 
memory ; a beautiful memory ; a precious treasure 
buried by the lapse of many years ; one of the dear 
recollections of childhood that we cannot quite ex- 
press, nor yet quite conceal.” 

“With this fond memory still lingering in your 
soul, and so inwoven with your younger life, it would 
be a sacrifice for you to drive it away ; and I thank 
my child for her frankness, and she is more precious 
to me than ever for revealing her innermost heart. 
But do not forget that life is full of dreams that are 
never realized. We spend much of our time expect- 
ing what we never receive. I am old, and strewn 
along my memory are many blasted hopes and dis- 
appointed expectations, yet I would not drive them 
away. They are the warp and the woof of life. As 
I approach the shadowy land, I look backward over 
the span of a lifetime, while your vision is towards 
the future, full of hope ; but I pray you do not put 
off the day of happiness, for the present hour is the 
time to be happiest.” 

Clare still lingered, playing with the white locks of 
the good old man, while he discoursed to her much of 


THE ANSWER. 


293 


the philosophy of life, and of what he had learned 
during his long experience. His mind sparkled with 
gems of thought, and Clare, as she listened, learned 
many valuable lessons. He told her much of his life, 
of Laura and her mother, and never until this inter- 
view did she fully appreciate the relation she sus- 
tained to the Doctor ; for now he informed her that 
his Laura could have been no more to him than was 
his Clare, and that in every respect he should treat 
her as his only daughter, the staff of his declining 
years, and that “ Evergreen Home ” was her home 
while she lived. 

Clare was deeply affected by these kind words of 
her benefactor, and she said : “ I will live for you alone. 
I will love you as only a daughter can love a father; 
my life and my happiness shall be to make you happy ; 
you shall control my thoughts and my actions ; and 
now tell me, do you fully approve of my rejection of 
Palgrave ? ” 

“ Palgrave is my friend, and I love him,” said the 
Doctor, “ but neither he nor any one shall take my 
Clare until every longing of her heart is satisfied, 
until she meets her ideal and adores him, and then 
she will not leave me for I shall go with her to the 
end of life.” 

Clare was in tears, and a long silence ensued, when 
at length the Doctor said : “ When this conversation 
commenced you were troubled and anxious, and I a 
little disappointed, but now we are very happy, are 
we not, my darling ? ” 

“ I can never be unhappy if I can contribute to 
your happiness,” answered Clare. 

“ In every new development of your character new 
beauties are revealed, and if I murmured at the deal- 


294 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


ings of Providence in robbing me of my treasures 
long ago, I now see the hand of Infinite Love in bring- 
ing to me my lost Laura, in the person of my Clare ; 
and I bless the day when the good angel of compas- 
sion and mercy directed me to the bedside of your 
dear mother, for there I found my lost child, and she 
is to me the charm and the hope of my old age. Do 
not feel that I disapprove your answer to Palgrave. 
Your answer is my answer.” 

The conversation ceased. The short hour it had 
consumed was one of those epochs that occur in the 
lives of us all and dictate our future. 

The Doctor went his way among his friends, to 
whom he was making farewell visits, preparatory to 
departure for America, for now they had been absent 
for nearly two years, and Clare had completed her 
course at the school. The Doctor had promised to 
communicate Clare’s answer to Palgrave, and towards 
evening sought the room of his friend. After many 
attempts and hesitations, he said : “I have been 
charged by my child to deliver to you this message, 
— ‘ That while she shall always love you as a brother, 
she can never love you as a husband ; ’ and for my- 
self, I say, you will always be my dear friend.” 

A cold chill shivered through the manly frame of 
Palgrave, a deathly pallor spread over his countenance, 
while in his eyes shone a strange, unusual light. The 
Doctor sought to cheer and to comfort him, but Pal- 
grave answered not a word. He sat motionless as a 
stone. His soul was crushed. The light of the world 
had gone out forever, and the dismal gloom of utter 
darkness beclouded his mind. The hope and the joy 
of life, its flavor and its sweetness, had fled, and he 
was a crushed and worthless worm crawling in the 


THE ANSWER. 


295 


dust. The Doctor became alarmed at his condition, 
for he sat there pale and ghostly, his eyes glaring 
wildly, and would not speak a w^ord. The old phy- 
sician stepped out to summon help, for he saw the in- 
evitable symptoms of approaching frenzy. He soon 
returned but Palgrave had gone, and an active search 
could not find him. 

The stricken wanderer passed out of the city, into 
the open fields — walking and walking he knew not 
whither. The sun was shining out gloriously in the 
western heavens ; the budding roses were here and 
there blushing into flowers of beauty ; the fresh 
young leaves were trembling in the balmy breeze, 
while the birds filled the air with music and joyous 
song, but he heeded them not and passed by — walking 
and walking he knew not whither. The rustic labor- 
ers in the fields greeted him as he passed along, but 
he made no response, and on he went with his aching 
head bowed to the earth — walking and walking he 
knew not whither. 

Soon the shades of night came on, the lowing herds 
were winding their way to their homes, the sounds of 
the distant city were growing fainter and fainter, and 
here and there were lights appearing in the peaceful 
homes of the rural people, but there was no light for 
poor Palgrave, and on he hastened as if fleeing from 
himself — walking and walking he knew not whither. 

At length darkness overspread the face of the earth, 
and the stars, guardians of the night, came shining 
out upon the world in repose ; but there was no rest 
for the crazed victim of unrequited love. He fled on 
and on, as if running away from fate. As the sol- 
emn hour of midnight approached he passed by an old 
neglected grave-yard, where the faded and mildewed 


296 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


stones, in the dim light, looked like an army of ghosts 
and goblins. Here he halted an instant, and shouted 
aloud for Clare, as if she were dead and he would call 
her back to life again. His voice reverberated mourn- 
fully among the neglected tombs, and died away, giv- 
ing back no response. The echo of his wild voice 
frightened him, and he hastened on and on — walk- 
ing and walking he knew not whither. 

Now to his crazed and bewildered mind life and 
light had fled from the universe, and he alone was 
wandering in the darkness of chaos, searching for his 
Clare, his idol, his bride. He thought some dire ca- 
lamity had befallen the earth, and that he and Clare 
were the only survivors, and that she was lost in the 
universal night, and he could not find her. He called 
out wildly for his darling, and then halted and list- 
ened as if expecting to hear her cry. 

At length the gray dawn of morning gave promise 
of the coming day, and the eastern sky foretold the 
splendor of the rising sun, but there was no light and 
no promise for poor Palgrave. To him light had 
vanished from the earth, and the day and the night 
were alike, dark and dismal. Hope had died in his 
stricken heart, and on he went heeding not the dawn 
— walking and walking he knew not whither. 

Again the glorious sun was riding in the Orient, 
clothing the dew-bespangled trees with trembling 
diamonds ; opening the sleeping flowers and the 
drowsy leaves, causing them to lift up their drooping 
heads as if with joy at the coming of the light ; the 
birds were singing songs of welcome to the returning 
day ; the world was alive again, and the tramp of 
busy feet resounded around the globe. Oh, glorious 
sunrise I Who does not see in its unerring return, 


THE ANSWER. 


297 


day after day, year after year, and age after age, 
bringing with it joy and hope, life and light, the hand 
of a kind Providence whose promises never fail. 
Shine on forever, glorious sun, and let thy light per- 
meate every darkened soul, for thou speakest of God 
and Infinite Love. But there was no sunshine for 
Palgrave. In his wild delirium the sun had dropped 
out of the universe, and the earth was whirling madly 
through interminable space, and so on he went un- 
heeding — walking and walking he knew not whither 
or wherefore. 

At last utterly exhausted, parched with a burning 
thirst and raging fever, he fell to the earth insensible. 
A plowman returning to his labor chanced to find 
him, and he was taken to his home. The search in 
the city had been kept up all night and the ensuing 
day, and information had been sent far and near for 
the missing man. The Doctor later in the following 
day received word that Palgrave had been found, and 
hastened to him. He had wandered many miles from 
the city in his wild walk of twenty-four hours, and 
he had grown old and wrinkled as if a whole lifetime 
had been compressed into this short space of time. 
He was still in a stupor when the Doctor reached him, 
and seemingly death was near at hand. He was care- 
fully and tenderly taken back to the city and to his 
room, where the fatal interview of the day before had 
occurred, and the best skill of Berlin was summoned 
to his bedside. Long time did the fever rage with 
devouring fury. Poor Palgrave ! In his delirium he 
wildly called for Clare to save him, to shield him 
from the pursuit of the furious fiends. Then a stupor 
followed from which nothing could arouse him. His 
condition was daily reported to Clare and the Doctor, 


298 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Her delicate and sensitive nature was shocked beyond 
expression, and. she reproached herself as the author 
of this ruin. A week elapsed, and still did Palgrave 
call for Clare. Then the Doctor said to her : “Our 
dear friend is near his end ; his fever still rages with 
increasing fury, and he is always delirious when not 
in a stupor. He cannot survive much longer.” 

“ He calls continually for me,” said Clare, “ and I 
must see him ; who knows but I can calm his crazed 
brain. May I go to him ? ” 

“ I fear,” replied the Doctor, “ I fear if he looks 
upon you he will become raving ; but he is in a stupor 
to-day, and it can do no harm for you to visit him. 
Dear child, do not reproach yourself ; you are no more 
to blame for this than an angel in heaven.” 

In a few moments Clare was at the bedside of him 
who, in the strength and the pride of his manhood, 
had but a short time before asked her to be his wife. 
Faint and trembling she approached and looked upon 
him, now so pale and haggard, but she had a brave, 
resolute heart, and fearlessly went where duty called 
her. She believed if Palgrave could have a sane 
moment and see her by his side that he would be re- 
stored and saved. She could give no reason for this 
conviction. It was a woman’s intuition, which at times 
is better than all the knowledge of all the books, and 
leads to correct conclusions, though opposed by an 
ocean of learned doubts and difficulties ; and so Clare 
obtained permission to visit Palgrave daily, believing 
she should be the means of saving his life. She spent 
many hours at his bedside administering to his wants, 
and assisting the others in their labor of waiting upon 
and caring for him. She had seen him when his 
delirium was at its height, and when he called 


THE ANSWER. 


299 


loudly for Clare ; she had moistened his lips when the 
fever had parched and cracked them, and she had 
seen him sink into a deathly sleep which seemed al- 
most like death itself. 

He had now been in an insensible condition for 
nearly ten hours, and Clare had been in the room 
anxiously waiting for a change. At last he opened 
his eyes, and finding Clare standing at his bedside, 
he faintly whispered, “ I have found her and I am 
§aved.” His reason returned. The crisis had been 
passed, and he was safe. He had seen the very valley 
and the shadow of death, but the gentle hand of a 
ministering angel had rescued and restored him. 
Clare had vanquished the physicians. Her friend 
was slowly recovering. The sight of her, instead of 
causing him to rave, had seated reason upon its 
throne. His memory was at first a blank. He could 
scarcely remember his dearest friends. Clare alone 
did he recognize as of old. He knew that he had 
been very near to death, and he knew that Clare had 
saved him. And this knowledge brought with it a 
new feeling. He looked upon her as a saint to be 
worshiped, instead of a woman to be loved. He 
thought of her as a savior ; he sanctified her as an 
angel ; he worshiped her as a God. It was more 
than love. It was adoration. 

And thus closes the two years in Europe. The 
early days of June have come, and the hour of depart- 
ure has arrived. Palgrave is pale and thin and moves 
about feebly with his staff, the ghost of his former 
self, but his mind is clear and bright, and his heart 
at peace. He and Clare meet to say farewell. The 
shadow of trouble is upon her brow and she said, “ Can 
you forgive me ? ” 


800 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ I forgive you ? Thus to do would imply that you 
have done wrong, and this I know you have not, in 
word or thought or deed. Did the Redeemer of the 
wicked world ask the sinner to forgive Him ? So 
neither should my savior seek forgiveness from me.” 

“ But you have been very near to death.” 

“ And you saved me. You did not flee from me 
as from a worthless worm, but when I called for you 
in my madness you came, and in finding you, I found 
life and health. You are to me more than human ; I 
cannot love you as of old, but I give to you adoration 
and worship, such as I give to the Redeemer and 
Saviour of mankind.” 

“ Be it so if it brings you happiness.” 

“ I am happy. The tempest has passed ; the angry, 
lashing waves are still, and I am calm. The sweet 
peace of happiness and contentment is with me. I 
am happy.” 

“ God be praised, that you can give me this assur- 
ance. It brings the balm of consolation to my own 
heart and I too am happy. And thus we part ? ” 

“Yes, but not forever. As the Mohammedan 
makes his pilgrimage to Mecca to look upon the tomb 
of the prophet, there to renew his faith, his sanctity, 
and his virtue, so I shall come to the home of my saint, 
my savior, to renew my faith in the divinity of human 
nature.” 

“ Come, and I will be your sister, your loving 
sister, and you shall be my lost brother, found after 
so many years : come, and I will show you his grave 
upon the shore of the boundless sea.” 

“I am content that you think of me thus, content 
and happy that you make me a member of your fam- 
ily. And now fare thee well.” 


RICHARD. 


301 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

EICHAED. 

Richakd was still in the office of Judge Kent, 
prosecuting with manly effort the two tasks he had 
assigned himself : namely, .to solve the mystery of 
Clare, and, through a knowledge of the law, to lift the 
mountain from the home of his fathers. In the pros- 
ecution of his search for the lost child of his love he 
had found her old home by the sea, and had looked 
upon the blackened bluffs where in the elder days her 
little hands had lighted the beacon fires. The silence 
and desolation of the place but answered to the de- 
spair of his own heart, for with all his efforts, prose- 
cuted for six long years, he could learn naught of 
Clare. Sometimes he could but think her dead. All 
unconscious of the gathering storm whose mutter- 
ings we have heard in the distance, and little dream- 
ing that his Clare was involved therein, he pursued 
his studies with vigor. His early conversation with 
Stacy had not at all shaken his determination to mas- 
ter the profession he had chosen, and his books be- 
came his companions, in whose society he found a 
solace for his many troubles. He captured the cita- 
dels as he went along. He left no enemy in the rear, 
but his conquests were so guarded and defended that 
a surprise or a recapture was out of the question. He 
laid the foundation upon which to build the imperial 
structure of the law, broad and strong, leaving no 


302 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


weak places and no neglected corners. The grand 
principles of Right and Wrong that ages of toil and 
labor had hewed out from the mother rock, and pol- 
ished and perfected into things of beauty, became 
familiar to him, and with this material he builded a 
structure grand and imposing, and adorned it with 
the thought of centuries. 

In this sanctuary, wherein reposed and were en- 
shrined the devout saints of the law, he worshiped, 
and their great names became to him as household 
gods, and to them in every time of doubt and uncer- 
tainty he would turn for counsel and advice. By 
their aid he grasped the sublime principles that un- 
derlie the fabric of civilized society and control the 
progress of mankind. From them he had learned an 
unyielding appreciation of right and wrong, and a 
keen sense of justice and fair dealing. His natural 
inclination to honesty and uprightness had been for- 
tified and doubly armed by the study of the law and 
his knowledge of its great teachers. 

To the well-balanced mind a knowledge of the law 
quickens the perception of right and wrong, and makes 
strong the natural inclination to deal justly and fairly. 
It points out every fraud, every deception, and every 
concealment ; it exposes the tricks, the schemes, the 
plots of every villainy ; it probes to the depths every 
meanness, and brings to view the deception, the 
double-dealing, and the falsehood of every knave ; it 
marches forward to the right conclusion, and brushes 
away the web of fraud, falsehood, perjury, deception, 
and crime ; it sounds every pool of corruption, fath- 
oms every depth of iniquity, and pierces through and 
through the most consummate plans to rob the indi- 
vidual or the people of their rights ; it is the guardian 


RICHARD, 


303 


of the weak and the innocent, while it protects, and 
at the same time restrains, the strong and powerful. 

To Richard’s exalted conception when he came to 
learn the treasures of the law, — these storied jewels of 
the ages, — when he learned that there was no wrong 
without a remedy ; that the law guarantees all our 
rights and punishes all our wrongs ; that it is a shield 
alike to the rich and to the poor ; that it secures us 
our liberty and our property ; that it is the guardian 
of our reason and our thought ; that it enters into the 
multiform and complicated transactions of business 
and trade, and secures the exact performance of all 
contracts and agreements incident thereto ; that it 
throws its panoply of protection around us when we 
wake and when we sleep, giving to our homes con- 
tentment, to our thoughts freedom, and to our fire- 
sides happiness ) that it secures to us the enjoyment 
of our religious belief, and has abolished the idea that 
the state can manufacture religion for the people as a 
garment; that it has unshackled the conscience and 
melted the chains that scourged the weary, trembling 
slave ; that it takes hold of all the affairs of humanity 
in their thousand ramifications and multifarious con- 
ditions, circumstances, and relations, guiding and di- 
recting the whole complicated machinery, so that 
right prevails and justice is done, securing to the la- 
borer the fruits of his toil, and to the mind the results 
of its thought ; that it makes all men equal in the 
sacred and serene jurisdiction of its own tribunals, 
securing to all the writ of right, and declaring that no 
man shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property 
without due process of law ; that he who seeks equity 
must do equity ; that no man shall be condemned un- 
heard ; that reason is the soul of the law, and where 


304 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


the reason of any particular enactment ceases, the law 
itself shall cease; that he is not to be heard who 
alleges things contrary to each other ; that no man 
shall take advantage of his own wrong ; that the act 
indicates the intent ; that no man shall be put twice 
in jeopardy for the same offense ; that one must so 
enjoy his property as not to injure that of another; 
that every man’s house is his castle ; that a right of 
action cannot arise out of a fraud; that every pre- 
sumption is made against the wrong-doer ; that no 
man can be compelled to criminate himself ; that law 
is justice, reason, truth, as the human mind is enabled 
to understand these things after ages and ages of toil 
and study, — when Richard looked upon all these treas- 
ures and a thousand others of like character, gems 
that the great past has transmitted to us as an inher- 
itance, he looked upon this system of law, overlooking, 
regulating, directing, and controlling the whole course 
of human conduct, and giving life and vigor to our 
progressive civilization, as towering above all others, 
the grandest monument to human thought. He 
looked upon each one of the sublime truths inwrought 
into our system of law — those sparkling jewels of 
thought and reason — as the gift of the ages to man ; 
that with them a thousand years had been but as a 
day ; that they have had to contend with the army of 
caste and privilege, and that they come to us through 
toil and struggle, through blood and carnage, over 
hecatombs of martyrs, halting upon the scaffold, the 
gibbet, and the stake, the gift of human thought to 
the present and future ages. 

And so this student of the law approached this 
sanctuary of the intellect with feelings of awe and 
reverence. He looked upon it as the repository of 


RICHARD, 


305 


logic, the charmed home of reason ; and in this ma- 
jestic structure he found the elements of all history, 
science, and art, the product of all thought, and the 
knowledge of all experience. 

Feeling thus in love with his profession, and look- 
ing upon it as the noblest employment, it is not 
strange that he made remarkable progress in his 
studies. His enthusiasm knew no limits, and his 
ambition to work his way to the head of his profes- 
sion gave to him no rest, but ever pushed him for- 
ward into the unexplored fields of the law. At the 
end of two years, and at about the time Clare was 
leaving Europe for home, Richard was ready for ad- 
mission to the Bar. 

His father and mother still lived at the old home 
of Grandfather Leonard, while J ohnny Flint, his com- 
panion and friend, continued to travel the highways 
of commerce, but had failed to find his Kate. 

20 


306 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 
HOME AGAIN. 

Clake, the Doctor, and his sister arrived in Boston 
harbor late in June. The day was bright and beau- 
tiful. The forest of masts, and the many sails float- 
ing in the breeze, representing every nation, people, 
and tongue ; the hearty cheers and salutes, spoken in 
every dialect and language, that greeted the good ship 
bearing our travelers to their waiting home, as it 
grandly neared its destination, walking the waters 
like a thing of life ; the glorious sun shining upon the 
placid sea mirroring the vaulted sky, the silver clouds, 
and a world of beauty ; the hum and the roar of the 
great city mingling with the plaintive music of the 
majestic ocean in repose ; the exultation and the joy 
of the passengers at reaching in safety their journey’s 
end ; the meeting of dear friends long separated, 
brother and sister, husband and wife, parents and 
children, and lovers, all conspired to render the scene 
charming and full of interest. It was one of those 
days in a lifetime to be long remembered and cher- 
ished after its companions have faded into forgetful- 
ness and oblivion. 

For a month preceding their arrival “Evergreen 
Home ” had put on its summer apparel, being clothed 
in garments of green and gold, trimmed with fresh 
young leaves, beautiful flowers, and dewy grasses 
sparkling in the mellow sunlight ; the balm of a 


HOME AGAIN. 


307 


thousand roses perfumed the air ; the happy songs of 
the warbling birds echoed among the trees ; the foun- 
tain played in the genial sunshine circled around with 
the bow of promise, as if laughing for its freedom 
after the long imprisonment of winter ; and the fish 
in the little lake were exulting in the return of sum- 
mer weather, and were here and there jumping out 
of the crystal waters as if in the ecstasy of joy. The 
servants had also donned their holiday garments 
in anticipation of the return of the family: Uncle 
George still combining the character of philosopher 
and money broker, — “M. B. ‘Evergreen Home,”’ — 
was arrayed in clothes typical of his dual character ; 
Cicero appeared in the dazzling red neck-tie and the 
gaudy ring, — tokens of Stacy’s undying regard, — 
the rattan cane, and the shining hat ; and even Sibyl, 
the housekeeper, although still suffering from untold 
and unappreciated ailments, and still harassed and 
distressed with visions of famine and fearful calami- 
ties, yet with sufficient vitality remaining to perform 
the labor of an exceedingly strong and well woman, 
and still the omnipresent walking terror of all the 
servants, was upon this auspicious day adorned with 
her new home-made plaid woolen dress, black and 
green, pinched and scant, with no fullness anywhere, 
or an inch of waste cloth, the skirts of which hung 
straight and smooth and perpendicular, while the 
sleeves, like those of a coat, drawn over her bony 
arms, were pinched, tight, and uncomfortable, and 
the space between the sleeves in the front, as well as 
in the back, was flat and as smooth as a board. 

The Doctor and party had scarcely set foot upon 
the shore when they discovered in the dim dis- 
tance a carriage, glistening in the sunbeams for very 


308 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


brightness, to which were attached two shining black 
horses ; the driver sat upright and philosophical, with 
the inevitable pencil and paper projecting from his 
side pocket, as if then and there ready to utter a pro- 
found thought or to negotiate a loan. On at a lively 
pace the driver came, turning neither to the right 
nor to the left, passing by a thousand vehicles of all 
kinds and descriptions, heeding not the frantic cries 
of the cabmen, the noise and confusion of screeching 
railroad trains, or the din and tumult of passengers 
running hither and thither clamoring for their bag- 
gage ; but as if soaring in the realms of profound phi- 
losophy, calm and undisturbed by mundane sights or 
sounds, came Uncle George with his chariot to bear ^ 
away the queen of “ Evergreen Home.” Philosophy 
has its lucid intervals even in the most confirmed cases, 
and Uncle George, approaching the family, expressed 
his unbounded delight, like an ordinary mortal, at 
again meeting them, and especially his “ Lady Clar’.” 

Soon they set out for “ Evergreen Home.” Their 
hearts bounded with joy as they approached the 
lovely place ; they exulted with gladness ; they were 
devout with praise and thanksgiving at their safe 
return ; in the fullness of their hearts they blessed 
the Giver of happiness. 

The genial sun shone out mild and warm, and 
seemed to welcome them home ; the beautiful trees, 
clothed in loveliness and fanned by a gentle breeze, 
seemed to nod to them a hearty welcome ; the singing 
birds appeared to have arranged a grand concert to 
celebrate the event with joyous song ; the flowers and 
the roses were clothed in their most beautiful apparel, 
gayly attired in dresses of a thousand hues and colors, 
to welcome home again their dear friend and com- 


HOME AGAIN. 


309 

panion, the brightest flower of all ; while the gentle 
fish in the lake daringly leaped out of the water in 
the excess of their joy, or turned their silvery sides 
to the sun and glided away in schools, as if in mass 
convention, to pass complimentary resolutions upon 
the occasion of the return of the family. 

Home, dear, delightful home, — sacred to a thou- 
sand precious memories, wherein are gathered the 
landmarks of life ; adorned with the treasures of love 
and affection, sanctified because the givers thereof 
are gone forever ; wherein nestle and abide the rec- 
ollections of years and years of happiness and sweet 
repose ; where in every nook and corner, in every chair 
and window, glow the memory of a dear friend de- 
parted, and which awaken associations that can never 
die; around whose hearth-stones are clustered the 
gems and the jewels in the crown of life, — altar of 
faith, hope, and love ; enjoy it, dear friends, while yet 
you may ; rest in peace and security while yet the 
sun shines ; for the angry storm is gathering, the mut- 
terings of the thunderbolt are already heard in the 
dim distance, yea, the threatening cloud has already 
arisen upon the horizon that will bring dismay, alarm, 
and terror to the household of “ Evergreen Home ” 
and to the deities clustered there. 

A week of rest and repose passed quickly by, and 
the Doctor’s home was all itself again. It breathed 
the very air of culture ; it was elegant and bespoke 
refinement and an elevated taste in all its apart- 
ments ; it was the abiding place of peace, affection, 
and happiness; in it dwelt unostentatious benevo- 
lence, unrewarded generosity, faith, hope, and charity ; 
it was in fact a home as near the type and picture of 
Paradise as an earthly home could be. The Doctor 


310 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


and his sister had passed the storms of life, and had 
reached at last the still waters, and in their quiet 
home were peacefully sailing onward to the unknown 
but undreaded end ; and Clare, tempest-tossed and 
shipwrecked early in her voyage, friendless, floating 
alone upon the troubled, lonely sea, had been picked 
up by them and taken on board their staunch ship ; 
and together they had traveled onward towards the 
undiscovered country, shielded by the anchor of hope, 
and guided by the beacon star of love whose light 
shone around their world. 

And now two years had passed since Clare had 
bowed her head over the grave of her mother, — two 
years, and she had not visited the room where she 
died, and where the Doctor first saw his child. She 
must hasten to pay this tribute of affection, for the 
ocean of her sorrow was only calmed, her love re- 
mained undimmed by the flight of years ; she must 
hasten to the silent city, towards which we are all 
tending, and which we all must enter and pass before 
reaching the promised land. 

It was a bright and beautiful sunset when Uncle 
George appeared with the carriage to take her to the 
cemetery. She went alone to hold communion with 
the dead. As she entered the grounds, the last rays 
were shining upon the monuments of love, as if un- 
willing to leave them in the darkness, while yet they 
pointed the way to the great hereafter. She lingered 
long at her mother’s tomb. She thought — oh, who 
can recount her thoughts as she knelt there upon the 
sacred earth. The night was coming on, typical of 
the night of death, yet like it with the promise of the 
glorious morning. Still she lingered and thought. 
The years of her childhood with her father and 


HOME AGAIN. 


311 


mother came thronging in upon her mind ; her old 
home made sacred now, for there she had lived with 
her dear parents ; her brother, his untimely death ; 
the loving watch of her mother and herself upon the 
bluffs ; the dashing waves and the howling storm — 
she could see them yet, oh, so vividly ; her life with 
her father among the fishermen and the boats ; their 
removal to Pembroke neighborhood and the .school 
there ; the farewell to her father as he entered the 
army — she saw him now and remembered every word 
and every look ; her mother’s long sickness and grad- 
ual fading away, and the last scenes, her visions and 
glimpses of the beautiful country she dimly saw, the 
“ Rock of Ages cleft for me,” and the end, the last 
look and the good-by, all flashed through her mind, 
and every act of her young life, and every thought 
and look of her parents, came teeming in upon her. 
Thus stood the loving only daughter and child at the 
grave of her sainted mother, while her father slept in 
an unknown grave far away upon the banks of the 
James. Oh, darkness and utter desolation! Then, 
indeed, did she feel alone, an orphan in the wide, 
wide world. Still she lingered, and the twilight was 
fast fading away. 

She was aroused from her deep reverie by the sound 
of voices. It seemed by the noise like two persons 
talking; but their voices were hushed and subdued 
as if they were speaking of some mysterious thing or 
some precious secret not to be disclosed, or else, and 
this the more probable as Clare thought, they were 
sadly speaking of some dear departed one who slept 
so near them. The voices became more distinct ; they 
were slowly approaching where Clare knelt as in the 
posture of prayer, but she was concealed by the shrub- 


312 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


bery about her mother’s grave. She arose to her feet, 
yet still concealed, and looking in the direction from 
whence the sounds seemed to come, saw in the twilight 
two persons, arm in arm, slowly approaching the spot 
where she stood, and apparently earnestly talking to 
each other. She thought them some stricken friends 
who, like herself, were visiting the quiet resting place 
of some dearly loved one ; perhaps they were broth- 
ers who also had lost their mother, a sister, or dear 
friend. Their presence, therefore, did not alarm her, 
and she resumed again the posture of prayer, resting 
upon her knees on the sacred earth, and casting her 
eyes towards heaven, as if in this place, and through 
this channel, she could speak to and commune with 
her she so dearly loved, and that here she could listen 
again to her sweet voice as in the olden time. She 
was looking to catch glimpses of that glorious land 
her mother had seen, and to see the beautiful ship 
upon the expanding, effulgent ocean, in which her 
brother had taken her mother to the beautiful shore 
beyond the mists and the clouds. 

The sound of the strangers’ voices again aroused 
her, for they became more and more distinct. The 
tearful mourners, as Clare thought them, were fast 
approaching her, and she expected they would con- 
tinue along the walk that led past her, and she 
thought not to disturb them or to be disturbed by 
them. On they came slowly, but earnesly talking, 
and making gestures with their hands as if to render 
more solemn what they said. They were now nearly 
opposite to Clare, and but a few feet from her, when 
one of them said, “ '•Evergreen Home ’ is a grand prize. 
I wish the suit was over and won^"* and the other re- 
plied, “ Old Parhery was exceedingly generous in his 


HOME AGAIN. 813 

wilL Bless and they gave a low but satisfied 

laugh. 

Clare heard the strange words and was startled. 
She arose to her feet alarmed, and stood face to face 
with Stacy and Sharp, and near enough to almost 
touch them. She recognized Stacy, as he did her the 
instant their eyes met, but neither uttered a word. 
Stacy, now himself alarmed at this apparition, not 
having learned that Clare had returned from Europe, 
and meeting her there among the tombs in the dim 
twilight, his first impulse was that her ghost had ap- 
peared to confront him in his attempted robbery, 
and to scatter to the winds his plots and schemes. 
His second thought, and it flashed instantly upon 
the heels of the other, was, that if the person whom 
he saw was really Clare and not her spirit, she must 
have heard their conversation, and thereby the whole 
fabric of the conspiracy might be brushed away, and 
the fond anticipations of years vanish to naught. 
His third feeling was that of intense hatred for Clare, 
so beautiful, so accomplished, yet with a mind so 
powerful that it had pierced him through and through, 
and laid bare all his filth and corruption, had thwarted 
his first attempt to acquire “Evergreen Home” by 
refusing to marry him, and so his hatred was intensi- 
fied into rage and madness ; but with all he feared 
Clare, for he thought her capable of exposing the 
deepest-laid plans of mischief. 

In their alarm and terror he and his friend turned 
quickly upon their heels and ran away at the top of 
their speed, and their retreating forms soon vanished 
in the darkness, while Clare hastened to the carriage 
and hurried to her home, where she soon arrived, ex- 
cited and alarmed. She at once sought the Doctor 


814 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


and related to him what had occurred. He felt safe 
and secure in his property and his right, and passed 
by as idle nonsense the wild words of Stacy and his 
companion ; but Clare was full of alarm ; she felt the 
presence of trouble in the air ; she felt the approach 
of danger from afar, and gloomy forebodings filled 
her mind. 

“ Why does Stacy say that ‘ Evergreen Home ’ is a 
grand prize ? You know he tried to get it once by 
making love to me. I did not then know his pur- 
pose, but it has since been revealed to me,” said Clare. 

The Doctor was surprised to know that Clare had 
so clearly arrived at this conclusion, being the fact he 
had intimated in their outward passage to Europe, 
and he replied : “You have certainly read Stacy cor- 
rectly. ‘ Evergreen Home ’ was surely enough his 
object when he sought your hand. He lost his prize 
then, and I do not feel that there is any danger of his 
attempting it again. What could he do if he should 
make the attempt ? The property is mine by every 
guarantee of the law. Do not feel alarmed, child. 
There is no danger whatever.” 

“ Doctor, let me remind you that he also said that 
he wished the suit was over and won, and this taken 
in connection with the declaration that ‘ Evergreen 
Home ’ is a grand prize, means, I fear, more than we 
■ think.” 

“ I do not fear any suit. My title is perfect. I 
bought the place and paid for it its full value, and 
received perfect deeds. Do not be alarmed, my child,” 
said he, now for the first time noticing Clare’s troub- 
led, anxious look. 

“ And then,” continued Clare, “ the other person 
spoke of ‘Old Parbery’s will.’ Did you ever know 
any man by the name of Parbery ? ” 


HOME AGAIN. 


315 


“ I purchased ‘ Evergreen Home ’ and mucli other 
property about the city from the daughters of an old 
merchant here by the name of Parbery, now deceased. 
The daughters inherited the property from their 
father, and I purchased from them, and received their 
deeds. My title cannot be disturbed.” 

“ This other man,” said Clare, “ not only spoke of 
Parbery’s will, but of his generosity. Did the Par- 
bery you knew, and of whose daughters you pur- 
chased the property, leave a will, and did they ac- 
quire the property by virtue of the will ? ” 

Now every energy of Clare’s active mind was 
aroused, and she followed up these inquiries like a 
lawyer cross-examining an unwilling witness, for she 
felt that the Doctor did not realize the danger of the 
situation. The Doctor replied to her last inquiry ; 
“ Parbery left no will, that is to say no will of any 
validity. A will was found among his papers, signed 
and witnessed, wherein a certain sum of money was 
bequeathed to one Steadman, a young man who had 
long been in Parbery’s employ, and the balance of 
the property was bequeathed to his daughters, save a 
few bequests to charitable uses. This will was taken 
to the Probate Office to be proved, but it was there 
found that it had been revoked by the testator, he 
having written underneath the will that the same 
was canceled by a will of subsequent date ; but no 
subsequent will was found, and the estate was admin- 
istered upon and the daughters received the property 
by inheritance, the law giving it to them as the heirs 
of Parbery, their father : Steadman received nothing 
from the estate, his legacy being good for nothing be- 
cause of the revocation of the will. At the death of 
Parbery, Steadman had become a drunken, worthless 


316 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


fellow ; he employed attorneys to procure for him his 
legacy, but they gave up the effort, being unable to 
find any subsequent will, and not being able to es- 
tablish the validity of the old one.” 

“Do you remember the date of the old will? ” in- 
quired Clare. 

The Doctor replied that if he were not mistaken 
the cancellation of the will was dated in April, 1849, 
but that he was not certain, for it was long ago that 
he saw it. He also said that its date could be easily 
ascertained, as it had been left with the other papers 
of the estate in the Probate Office. 

Clare was silent for some time, and then said, with 
the deepest feeling : “ Doctor Hume, you have long 
been my kind benefactor and dearest friend. I love 
you as I loved my father, and the promptings of my 
love cause me to take as deep an interest in your wel- 
fare as could your only child. Feeling thus I cannot 
conceal the alarm I feel at the disclosures of to-day. 
There is trouble brewing for you and our dear home. 
Dishonest rogues are seeking your ruin, hoping there- 
by to injure me, I fear ; and it makes me tremble to 
think that your kindness and generosity to me may 
bring to you trouble. I have tried, oh, so lovingly, to 
bring you happiness, and to be a comfort to your old 
age, but I tremble with distress at the trouble I can 
see in the future.” 

“ Do not,” replied the Doctor, “ indeed, do not 
distress yourself, my child, thinking of imaginary 
troubles. You are the very staff of my life, my 
hope, and my joy, and instead of bringing me ruin, 
you are the very source and fountain of my comfort 
and happiness. Do not fear. The wild talk of 
rogues will not avail against my title-deeds. We are 


HOME AGAIN. 


317 


strong in the right, and cannot be injured, much less 
ruined. I shall sleep entirely undisturbed, notwith- 
standing all the threats of such a man as Stacy or 
any of his companions.” 

“ Doctor,” said Clare, ‘‘ you are older and know 
much more of the world than I, but I am a woman 
and know some things without any teaching or expe- 
rience. We both know that Stacy is a vil#, wicked 
man, and every feature of his face and every look of 
his eye tells me that he is revengeful, and that to sat- 
isfy his revenge he would do or dare anything. Be- 
sides, his greed for money is indeed criminal. This 
he disclosed to me in an unguarded moment. He 
thinks money can heal any sin, drown any crime. I 
feel that my refusal to marry him has and will urge 
him on to revenge ; and having lost ‘ Evergreen 
Home,’ as he foolishly supposes, when he lost me, 
his revengeful nature will prompt him to dispossess 
you of the property and to acquire it himself. That 
he contemplates this I cannot doubt after hearing 
what he said to-day. A suit to be commenced, and 
won if possible, and ‘ Evergreen Home ’ is the prize. 
It is to be the subject matter of the suit. This is 
the plain import of his language. Think of this, my 
dear friend. The old will points directly to a new 
one of a subsequent date. It is reasonable to sup- 
pose that a subsequent will was in fact made, but if 
it were not made, does not this cancellation of the old 
will lay the foundation for the production of a sub- 
sequent will ? It promises a new will ; does not this 
fact make it plausible that a will of a later date 
should be found, and the way being thus made clear 
for the production of a new will, would it not be easy 
enough for one so disposed to make a subsequent will 


318 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


bequeathing the property to Steadman, and if such a 
will could be established would it not defeat your 
title and take dear ‘ Evergreen Home ^ from us ? 
The production of a new will would seem to be but 
the fulfillment of Mr. Parbery’s declared intention. 
We have been absent for two years; the revenge of 
Stacy has had ample time to mature and perfect it- 
self. We do not know what has been going on here ; 
Steadman may have been found and excited to renew 
his efforts to obtain his legacy, for he certainly would 
expect, if a new will was found, to receive thereby a 
portion of the Parbery estate. Oh, dear Doctor, I 
am filled with anxiety and alarm. I am young, and 
can suffer and endure ; but that harm should come 
to you, and especially because of me, and because of 
your kindness to an orphan, houseless and homeless, 
almost breaks my heart.” 

Clare could not repress her tears, and placing her 
arms around the Doctor’s neck, wept bitterly. And 
he, to soothe and quiet her, said : “ My child, my dar- 
ling child, trust in me. You are nervous and excited. 
Try and get some sleep, for to-morrow the sun will 
shine as bright as ever, and everything will go on as 
usual.” 

And so Clare retired to her room, but her sleep was 
troubled, and in her dreams she saw Stacy presiding 
over “ Evergreen Home,” insolent and arrogant, while 
the Doctor was turned penniless into the streets. The 
Doctor, also, passed an uneasy night, for Clare, in her 
clear, straightforward way had presented the conversa- 
tion of Stacy and his companion in a light he had not 
before thought of ; but he consoled himself to sleep 
by the reflection that there was no reason why Par- 
bery should disinherit his daughters by his will, and 


HOME AGAIN. 


319 


that a forged will, to be of any avail to Stacy, Stead- 
man, or any one else, must do this, for he had the 
deeds of Parbery’s only heirs. 

The morning broke bright and beautiful, but a cloud 
had settled upon the peace of “ Evergreen Home.” 
Days passed and it did not vanish away, but a shadow 
lingered, hovering around the old hearth-stone, and 
lurking in the darkened corners of the quiet rooms, 
disturbing the serene happiness of being home again. 

To disarm Clare’s fears, and to drive away the 
shadows, the Doctor proposed to give a dinner party 
in honor of their arrival from Europe. And this he 
did. There came city belles in all their glory and 
their charms ; old professors of colleges, doctors of law, 
divinity, and medicine ; young physicians, merchants, 
business men, and students, — a whole house full of 
beauty, learning, and culture. Clare was a stranger 
to many of them ; and the Doctor, in the pride of his 
heart, presented her to his guests as “ My child, 
Clare.” The dinner passed off pleasantly, amidst 
the flow of sparkling wit and merriment ; and when 
the company had assembled in the richly-adorned 
parlors, and Clare presided at the piano in all the 
splendor of her wonderful ability in music and song, 
she became the acknowledged queen of the hour. It 
was whispered among the company, and passed 
around the room, “ Who is this beautiful girl, and 
where did she come from ? ” and thus Clare became 
the wonder, no less than the delight, of the evening. 
The Doctor saw this astonishment and curiosity, but 
it pleased his humor to not answer the inquiry, pre- 
ferring that Clare should remain the beautiful mys- 
tery of “ Evergreen Home.” 

The next morning the inquiry circled around the 


320 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


city, “ Who is Doctor Hume’s child ? ” The question 
was asked in the abodes of fashion and splendor, 
where money stands for character, and where gold 
cured all defects. And in these homes where Doctor 
Hume was known to be very wealthy, Clare was wel- 
comed with eagerness and delight. Soon the question 
so anxiously asked was answered in the whisper that 
the Doctor’s child was a mere orphan, a poor fisher- 
man’s daughter, without a name or friends. Then in 
the homes of fashion, in the abodes of wealth, in the 
sacred circle, among the privileged classes, where ac- 
cidental wealth had exalted ignorance and stupidity ; 
where criminal wealth had galvanized crime into a 
virtue ; where brazen wealth had concealed moral de- 
formity ; where impudent wealth had drowned mod- 
esty ; where fraudulent wealth had covered up and 
smothered guilt and deception ; there, where the golden 
calf is worshiped by these human animals Avithout 
brains or hearts, was a sneer and a scornful laugh. 
And poor Clare, though her beauty, grace, and culture 
had dazzled their weak eyes, was despised ; and the 
cold, artificial world of wealth moved on unheeding, an 
iceberg in the heart of humanity, marching majestic- 
ally along upon the grand highway, paved with the 
loves and the hopes, the lives and the breaths, the 
unpaid labor and the hungry children’s cry, of the 
panting, squalid, pinched, and bleeding poor. 

Well might Doctor Hume say, as he did, that jus- 
tice demanded another A^orld to balance the accounts 
in this ; and he might have added that humanity was 
so deformed with blotches and sores, caused by selfish- 
ness, pride, and immorality, that it would require 
another and a better world to cleanse, to purify, and 
heal it, to the end that all wrongs be righted, whereby 


HOME AGAIN. 


321 


the scales of majestic justice should balance even, 
without a dip or variation in all the infinite world of 
God’s universal love. 

And so the party passed away and disappeared for- 
ever, and the tiny ripple it made in the great human 
sea extended wider and wider until it passed out of 
sight and was lost amidst the noise, the din, and the 
roar of the onward march of humanity. And so the 
party and the company gathered there disappeared 
in fading shadows ; but one shadow remained and 
would not be driven away. It lingered in the elegant 
rooms, haunting the darkened corners. It lurked in 
the recesses and behind the furniture, and perched 
upon the cupola, and remained there, the dusky com- 
panion of the night, prophesying evil and that con- 
tinually. 


21 


322 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


CHAPTER XXVin. 

MUSTERING THE FORCES. 

The fright of Sharp and Stacy in the cemetery had 
hastened the plans of the conspirators. A crisis was 
upon them. The situation demanded action. Popper 
had always strenuously insisted upon commencing the 
suit, and immediately after they had received the will 
from the hands of Bright, he counseled the issuance 
of a summons at once. But in this, after much crim- 
ination and recrimination, wherein Popper had been 
denounced as a brooding old bungler, he was over- 
ruled by Sharp and Stacy, who demanded further 
time to train their witnesses and perfect the case. 
And thus, according to Popper, a whole year had been 
wasted, and so time passed along until the accidental 
meeting of Clare in the cemetery. This unexpected 
event alarmed them. They feared she had overheard 
their conversation there, and were beside themselves 
with fright. Popper only remained cool and calm. 
A consultation ensued, and it was decided to com- 
mence the suit without delay. A final consultation 
followed in which they mustered the forces by which 
the suit was to be won. For this purpose Sharp 
brought forward his note-book and called off the 
names of the witnesses, and the lesson each one had 
been taught. Sharp was the trainer of the witnesses, 
and many times had been closeted with them for drill 
and practice. He now read from his note-book : — 


MUSTERING THE FORCES. 323 

First the will of Parbery, dated January 21, 1850, 
will be offered in evidence. 

“ And admitted too,” interrupted Popper. 

“ The will itself makes a primd facie case,” said 
Sharp, “ and here we might rest until we hear from 
the other side.” 

Popper, replying, said, “ Fortify as you go along.” 

But Stacy inquired, “ Why not let a perfect case 
alone, and not spoil the thing by overdoing it ? We 
claim title by the will, and when that instrument is 
in evidence our case is made, and let the other side 
attack it if they can.” 

“ Nonsense, boy,” said Popper, “ let us anticipate 
all their attacks, and thus destroy their thunder. 
Call your next witness, Mr. Sharp.” 

Marcus Bright : An old servant of the defendant, 
about thirty-five years of age, dark hair and eyes; 
reliable, character fair ; good habits. Rather stupid, 
recited Sharp reading from his note-book. Continu- 
ing to read : He will testify that during the absence 
of the defendant in Europe, Steadman, the legatee in 
the will, came to him, he being an old servant of the 
defendant, and having charge of the place during his 
absence, and inquired for information concerning an 
old picture of his mother that he had lost ; that it 
had been suggested to his mind that the lost picture 
might possibly be found among the old papers of 
Parbery, with whom he, Steadman, had lived for a 
long time, and that by chance some of Parbery’s pa- 
pers might yet remain in some obscure and unused 
place about the old house of Parbery, now used and 
occupied by the defendant ; that upon this suggestion 
he. Bright, had searched in the garret of the house, and 
had there found an old chest in which many papers of 


824 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Parbery were found, and in this chest, while search- 
ing for the picture aforesaid, he had accidentally found 
this will, and not knowing what to do with it had de- 
livered it to the law firm of Popper and Sharp, he, 
Steadman, suggesting this disposition of the same from 
the fact that this firm had under the old will attempted 
to procure for Steadman his legacy. Here, Sharp 
continued reading, will follow a careful identification 
of the will, its authenticity and the genuine character 
of the signature thereto and that of the , witnesses 
thereof having been established upon its introduction 
in evidence. 

“ Well,” said Popper, “ if the witness will give his 
testimony as clearly and concisely as you have it 
there written down, he will make a fine appearance 
upon the stand. But your description of him says he 
is stupid ? You should have selected a clear-headed 
fellow for this point.” 

“ Bright is honest, I think,” said Sharp, “ and sus- 
pects nothing.” 

“ I. hope he is not too honesty and that he has a 
clear head. You must sound him deep and teach him 
his lesson exactly. When he came here with the 
will he was frightened out of his wits, if he has any. 
This case must be prepared, you know. Sharp, and 
you know what preparation means. Perhaps a few 
dollars in advance will calm his sensitive nerves,” sug- 
gested Popper. 

“ I have him well in hand,” answered Sharp. 

“ He must declare that Steadman procured him to 
search for the picture. Does he understand that ? ” 
inquired Stacy. 

“ Yes, I have drilled it into his head that whatever 
one does by an agent he does himself,” replied Sharp. 


MUSTERING THE FORCES. 


325 


“ It was a legal proposition that he could not at first 
comprehend at all ; he now understands it, but in- 
sists that it is very funny that he is sometimes 
Bright, and sometimes Steadman or Stacy. He will 
make no mistake and will say that Steadman procured 
the search for the picture.” 

“Well, enough of Bright,” said Popper; “who 
next do you call ? ” 

Miles Steadman : Aged about forty-two ; broken 
down ; drunken, found in a den of infamy ; requires 
skillful management. He is the legatee in the will, 
answered Sharp, reading from the book. He will tes- 
tify that he lived at Parbery’s for a long time, and 
worked for him in his store and elsewhere, and lived 
in the family ; that he left there perhaps two years 
before Parbery’s death, and before leaving lost a pict- 
ure of his mother that he valued very highly; that he 
soon acquired drunken, dissolute habits, and thought 
no more of his mother or her picture for years, until 
he attempted to reform, when he was seized with a 
strong desire to find the picture, and thinking it 
might yet remain about the old house of Parbery’s, he 
had requested a servant of Doctor Hume to hunt for 
it, and while engaged in making the search he found 
the will under which he now claims the estate. 

“ That broken-down, weak-headed fool,” said Pop- 
per, “ will never testify like that. What we get out 
of him will be by the utmost caution.” 

“ It is a fact that he lost his mother’s picture,” an- 
swered Sharp, “ and he now really thinks he procured 
Bright to search for it.” 

“ Not when sober,” replied Popper. 

“But he is not sober often, and he certainly will 
not be on the day of trial,” said Sharp. 


326 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ No, upon that great day,” suggested Stacy, “ he 
must be too drunk rather than too sober. If any- 
where approaching sobriety he would be sure to ruin 
the case, and send us to the dogs. Remember he is 
honest when sober.” 

“ Don’t lecture us,” said Popper, “ we are too old ; 
but it is true enough that Steadman is the weakest 
point in the case, and if he is not picked in pieces by 
the cross-examination, I shall feel relieved ; we must 
rely upon Sharp’s drill and determination. Who next, 
Mr. Sharp ? ” 

Victoria Dome : Aged about forty-five. Single. 

Former servant of Parbery’s ; lives at Alley. “ I 

know where she lives, and it was not necessary in her 
case to enter the locality in the book, for several other 
witnesses come from the same alley, and it would look 
a little too uniform to put their residences down here,” 
said Sharp looking off his book. 

She will testify that for two or three years previous 
to Parbery’s death she lived with and worked for the 
family, and that during the period of her residence 
there she frequently heard Parbery’s daughters com- 
plain that their father had been too generous with 
Steadman in his will, and that the father and the 
daughters frequently had bitter contentions and dis- 
putes upon the subject. “ It is true,” said Sharp, 
looking up, “ that she did work there a few days, and 
heard some conversation about the will.” That after 
these disputes, continued the note-book, she heard 
Parbery say that his daughters were grasping and 
unreasonable, and that if they did not like his will 
as it was written, he would make another and give 
them nothing at all. That after one of these dis- 
putes his daughters left home for a while (“ probably 


MUSTERING THE FORCES. 


327 


went on a visit to friends in New York,” whispered 
Sharp), but afterwards returned, when a partial re- 
conciliation took place. 

“ The three daughters,” said Popper, “ will disprove 
every word of your Miss Dome’s testimony. They 
will truthfully deny every material fact in her testi- 
mony from beginning to end, except the bare asser- 
tion that she was in the family for a few days.” 

“ That may be,” answered Sharp, “ but her having 
been there at all gives color ; it affords the opportu- 
nity whereby she might have heard all she swears to ; 
but the defense will not anticipate any such testi- 
mony, and Parbery’s daughters will not be present at 
the trial, and if they were, I have a dozen witnesses 
here who will testify to the same thing as Miss Dome. 
The evidence upon this point will preponderate in our 
favor. Don’t be alarmed, Mr. Popper ; Sharp has not 
spent quite all his time in taking drinks with Stead- 
man.” 

“ Who next ? ” roared Popper. 

Jackson Jones : Aged about fifty. Quite bright 
when sober. Needs a little management, and a few 
instructions. Does not remember his lesson first-rate. 
Will require prompting in a careful way. Servant of 
Parbery’s, and will testify in substance the same as 
Miss Dome. 

David Smith next : Has bad habits. Will gamble 
and drink, and can’t be controlled. Will have to be 
taken possession of and confined a few days before the 
trial. A little money will keep him. He is smart 
and never gets confused. A good witness. Servant 
of Parbery’s, and will corroborate Miss Dome exactly. 

Betsey Hamilton, next upon this point: Aged 
about forty-one. Keeps a place of resort on 


328 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Alley. Drinks moderately, and is under full control, 
but is rather high priced. Former servant of Par- 
bery’s. Was living there with Miss Dome, and will 
substantiate her testimony in every particular. 

Jane Randall : Character similar to last witness, 
but not quite so high priced. Does not hold her tes- 
timony so high, but is hardly as intelligent. Old 
servant of Parbery’s and will corroborate the former 
witnesses. Then follow James Johnson, Michael 
Wren, Polly Darrow, and Simpson Green, of like 
character to the preceding witnesses, all former ser- 
vants of Parbery’s, who will corroborate Miss Dome 
in every particular, giving the time and where and 
when they heard the conversation between Parbery 
and his daughters, and all the surrounding circum- 
stances. 

“ Let the daughters come and do their best or 
worst,” said Sharp, “ we shall be ready for them.” 

“ Your witnesses are all of low character and of 
dissolute habits. Why did you not select men and 
women apparently decent and who would make a 
good appearance in court ? A fair appearance upon 
the stand is half the battle,” said Popper. 

“ The kind of witnesses you name,” answered Sharp, 
“ cost too much, and they are not so plenty. They 
are not worth the difference in price, in my opinion. 
My witnesses will make a good appearance, and their 
bad characters cannot be shown in the hurry of a trial. 
It would be hard to find any decent people who could 
testify that they were acquainted with their reputa- 
tions, and those of the other sort will not injure us.” 

Still reading from the note-book ; Next introduce 
in evidence the old will of Parbery now in the Probate 
Ofl&ce, and the revocation thereof in which the prom- 


MUSTERING THE FORCES. 


329 


ise of a new will is made. This will pave the way 
for the subsequent will, — the will under which we 
claim. It will make the new will probable ; it will 
fortify and strengthen our position, and is worth a 
dozen good witnesses, and we must make this point 
and gain it even if we fight for it. 

“ You will be accommodated with a brush to get 
that old will in evidence,” said Popper. “ The defense 
will fight desperately to keep it out of the case, for 
it is one of our strongest points, and with the jury 
^vill have great weight. The legacy there to Stead- 
man, and his long service, his failure to receive any- 
thing from the estate under the old will, will excite 
their sympathies. Sharp, and you know that with any 
foundation for it I can arouse the sjuupathies or 
excite the prejudices of a jury probably equal to any 
other man. My experience in the police courts, in 
defending the fellows there with their weeping wives 
manufactured for the occasion, will be of great service 
to me. But as to the admissibility of this testimony 
there is some doubt ; we must manage to slip it in. 
Perhaps the books would give some liglit upon the 
point, if we had them, but books are of little conse- 
quence. We must arouse the sympathies of the jury. 
This must be our effort, and upon this we must rely. 
You know my tears come easy, and the average jury- 
man is afraid of tears.” 

“Well,” said Sharp, “ that is the case. What do 
you think of it ? This you know is our final consul- 
tation before the suit is commenced.” 

“ I think,” said Popper, “ bringing to bear my 
twenty years’ experience, that the case is a good 
one. I do not know that I can remember ever hav- 
ing anything to do with a stronger or more perfect 


330 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


one. Surveying the case as a whole it appears com- 
plete.” 

“ But you know,” replied Sharp, “ the unforeseen 
circumstances that may arise, — the little trifles that 
may knock the whole thing over and send us out of 
court, and may do more. They may send us where 
we do not wish to go. Do you think we are at all 
implicated in it ? ” 

“ Sharp, my dear Sharp,” said Popper, “ your legs 
are trembling again. I imagine I can see all the cir- 
cumstances surrounding this case. My twenty years’ 
experience is not for nothing, and what we cannot 
see I do not fear. As to the forgery, Steadman did 
that, and he is the only party to be benefited by it, 
and the only one who has any motive to attempt the 
act. We are simply his attorneys. He brings us a 
will, and asks us to help him recover his estate. How 
we are to receive our pay for services rendered is no- 
body’s business. It is not thought beneath the posi- 
tion of lawyers making pretensions to honesty and 
high-mindedness to take cases upon shares. There 
are many such cases among the nabobs of the law. 
The nature of our contract with Steadman will never 
be disclosed. He does not know anything about it. 
He never saw the contract. He signed it, that is 
all, and that is enough, and it will never see daylight 
until we choose to bring it forward. Now your legs 
seem to be quiet, and I will call your attention to an- 
other thing. We have examined our own case, now 
we must look to the case of the defendant. How are 
we to be attacked, and how shall we defend ourselves ? 
These are matters to be looked into. Let me hear 
from you as to the points of the defense.” 

“Well,” said Sharp, “they will rely upon the 


MUSTERING THE FORCES. 


331 


deeds from the Parbery daughters, but I do not care 
what they do by way of setting up a case of their 
own, if we can manage to ward off their attacks 
upon us.” 

“ If the will stands, their deeds are void,” con- 
tinued Popper, “ for in that case they had no prop- 
erty to convey, and what they attempted to sell 
belonged at the time to Steadman. Evidently they 
will attack the will. They will bend all their ener- 
gies and power to sweep away our case. They will 
build up no case of their own but will try to under- 
mine ours.” 

“You are right,” answered Sharp, “we have but to 
maintain our position. They will dwell pretty strong 
upon the improbability of Parbery disinheriting his 
daughters. Perhaps they will attempt to show un- 
soundness of mind in the testator, and then the 
daughters will testify, if they can be produced, that 
they never had any trouble with their father.” 

“ That may be,” answered Popper, “ but your ar- 
ray of witnesses upon that point is quite satisfactory ; 
and besides these daughters will be interested wit- 
nesses, for they will be anxious to hold and maintain 
their inheritance, as the law gave it them, and this 
interest will weaken their testimony, while our wit- 
nesses have not a penny at stake in the result of the 
suit. As to the quarrel between the father and 
daughters we very clearly have the balance of testi- 
mony.” 

“ You spoke,” suggested Sharp, “ when alluding to 
the subject of arousing the sympathies of the jury, 
of the daughters of Parbery. Will not the jury more 
readily sympathize with them than with Steadman, 
who, according to his own statement, is a drunken, 


332 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


worthless fellow, and not entitled to the sympathy or 
respect of anybody ? And then there is Hume. He 
stands high. He has injured no one, and he is likely 
to become a beggar. Will he not be more liable to 
excite sympathy than either Steadman or the daugh- 
ters ? ” 

“The daughters,” replied Popper, “conveyed the 
property to the defendant by quitclaim deeds. They 
simply let go their hold upon what they did not own, 
so they can lose nothing ; and if any one was fool 
enough to pay them for what did not and never did 
belong to them, I do not think such an one entitled 
to any sympathy.” 

And so in the point of sympathy, as he called it, to 
the mind of Mr. Popper, — and it was the point upon 
which he expected to have the jury in tears in the 
twinkling of an eye, — the chances were very much 
in favor of the plaintiff. 

“ Undoubtedly,” said Sharp, “ the girl Clare will 
be paraded in court as the defendant’s adopted daugh- 
ter, and if she is so surpassingly beautiful as Stacy 
says she is, she will help their case amazingly. I saw 
a glimpse of her in the cemetery, and I can assure you 
her face would capture some jurymen, and but few 
could withstand her tears.” 

“ After all,” said Popper, “ these are really minor 
points. They will make a bold claim, for boldness 
and courage is always strong, and they will at once 
attempt to show that the will is a forgery. We must 
confront boldness with boldness, courage with cour- 
age.” 

“ That we will,” answered Sharp, “ but Parbery’s 
signature is beyond detection ; it is perfect, and I 
defy the whole world of assuming, confident experts 


MUSTERING THE FORCES. 


333 


to shake it. If Mark Bright does not disclose that 
Stacy was at the house when the will was found (he 
is not however so clear upon this agency business as 
Justice Story); if the proud Cicero does not let out 
the fact that Stacy once went to the observatory in 
the night season, during the absence of the Doctor in 
Europe, and thereby passed directly through the 
garret where the will was found ; and if the conver- 
sation of Stacy and Steadman when they went to- 
gether to the house was not overheard by the old 
darky who chased them away, I do not see how even 
a suspicion can be raised against the will. But our 
case hangs upon these three terrible ifs.” 

Terrible indeed, Mr. Sharp ; remorseless as fate, 
Mr. Popper ; avenging as a guilty conscience, Mr. 
Stacy. If any of these little things should be acci- 
dentally or designedly disclosed, what then ? And 
Mr. Sharp trembled again. Even he saw from afar 
the shadow of prison walls and dungeon bars. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the client Stacy, “ your prepa- 
ration of my case is complete so far as I can see, and 
I am satisfied with your labors. And now I suppose 
the summons should issue. This is July. The case 
ought to be reached and tried in September. Am I 
right ? ” 

“Yes, yes, the writ will issue to-morrow,” said 
Popper. 

“ That is your opinion, Mr. Sharp ? ” inquired 
Stacy. 

“ Yes,” hesitatingly answered Sharp. “ I don’t see 
but we are as ready as we can be. I feel the utmost 
confidence in the case, but who can foresee the un- 
looked for circumstances that control human events ? 
We are standing on slippery places, and all yet may 


334 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


be lost. One incautious word has often furnished the 
key to unlock the darkest schemes, and to bring to 
punishment the most crafty criminals. An insignifi- 
cant circumstance which, taken alone, is utterly of no 
importance ; a mere trifle fight as air ; a worthless 
piece of paper ; the finger marks of a hand, — the 
sound of a voice ; the shape of a track ; the scratch of 
a pen ; the color of ink; the striking of a clock, — have 
often risen into circumstances of momentous conse- 
quence, and formed finks in the iron chain that hur- 
ried the criminal to his doom, and these hidden cir- 
cumstances human foresight cannot guard against. In 
the complicated web of human affairs, these inscru- 
table circumstances are the hidden powers and forces 
that trouble .me. We are risking all, our fortunes 
and our liberties, upon three slender threads. But I 
do not see but we must take these chances. The 
writ may as well issue at once.” 

The night was now far spent, and Popper said, 
“We are agreed at last. Now bring in Steadman; 
we will repeat his toast.” And so drowning in the 
flowing bowl their hopes and their fears, they pa- 
tiently awaited the dawn of the coming day when the 
case of Steadman versus Hume should be com- 
menced. 


TO-MORROW. 


335 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

TO-MOKKOW. 

The morrow was ushered in gloriously hy the mel- 
low dawn waking the world to life again. Soon the 
sun came streaming forth pouring a flood of light into 
the darkened places, shining in upon the just and the 
unjust, the evil and the good ; into the houses where 
the devout were unburdening their souls in the morn- 
ing prayer, and into the dens of vice and crime where 
the wicked reveled in lust and debauchery; into 
beautiful homes where peace and contentment sat 
enthroned around the hearth-stones, amidst the house- 
hold gods assembled there, welcomed by bright 
smiles, cheerful looks, and loving hearts, and into the 
hovel of poverty and distress where the squalid poor 
in rags and filth, pinched and famished by gaunt dis- 
ease, opened their eyes but to gaze on misery and 
suffering, — whose future had no brightness and no 
promise, and where the effulgent rays, trembling with 
golden light, brought but darkness, making their de- 
spair more visible; waking some to hope, joy, and 
gladness, opening the buds of promise and making 
life a radiant rainbow of happiness, and rousing 
others to misery, despair, deeds of darkness, and death ; 
and this beneficent sun, upon this eventful morning, 
came shining in upon “ Evergreen Home,” causing it 
to blaze with beauty, but could not with all its power 
dispel the lurking shadows hidden there. It shone 


336 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


also upon the yellow and green sign on the alley, and 
struggled hard to enter in among the cobwebs, the 
mildew, and the dust that encased the law office of 
Popper and Sharp, but failing in its efforts, glanced 
away, and left the inmates thereof still sleeping to 
the toast of the night before. 

This was the great day in their calendar ; this the 
day long foretold by their busy and careful prepara- 
tion, by their midnight consultations, and by their 
secret labors in the dark, prowling about “ Evergreen 
Home,’’ watching their prey. And it was the terrible 
day foreshadowed to the clear mind of Clare, the day 
that should bring agony and anguish to the home of 
her benefactor. 

Sleep was not one of Popper’s virtues. He was 
always at war with kind nature for requiring so much 
of human life to be wasted in sleep. He clamored 
for more time, and he robbed the night of its empire 
lest a moment should be lost, — a moment in which 
to think an evil thought or to do an evil deed. Sleep 
therefore was Popper’s enemy. Perhaps he thought 
it too much resembled its twin brother, but however 
that might have been, he fought against it; he set up 
the standard of rebellion in the kingdom of repose, 
and upon this glad morning he was more warlike 
than ever. The toast of the night before early spent 
its force, and Popper was soon astir again. Rousing 
himself and shaking off the dust and the dirt, and 
rubbing open his small, vicious eyes, and looking 
down upon Sharp and Stacy still sleeping upon the 
dirty cot to which the toast had consigned them, 
soliloquized ; — 

“ My larks tremble a little, a very little, as the 
time comes to strike ; they are a little shaky about the 


TO-MORROW. 


337 

knees as the first gun is to be fired, but I will calm 
them. This is the great day ; this the day I have 
struggled for so long, and it is already light. I must 
up and bestir myself. No more consultations. The 
thing is ripe, and I will light the torch before my 
quaking friends can stop me. Ha, ha! Cowards 
and traitors too, if occasion demanded I Bless ’em, 
they sleep well ! Brooding old Popper, is he I Stu- 
pid old villain, is it ! Snarls, does he I Drools while 
you do the work ! This suit not to be lost by my 
dullness, is it ! Ha, ha ! Sleep on, poor fools, and 
drooling, brooding old Popper will do a little work 
himself ! Sleep on, and I will make retreat impossi- 
ble ! Sleep, and I will light the torch ! ” 

Stirring himself again and putting on his court 
clothes, and taking the declaration in the suit, with a 
copy of the forged will annexed, in his hand, he 
stepped down the winding stair- way to the street, and 
made his way to the office of the clerk of the court. 

Soon Sharp and Stacy aroused, and noticing the ab- 
sence of Popper and that the declaration was missing, 
Sharp nervously said : “ Stacy, we are in for it now. 
The old blunderhead has stolen the march on us. He 
has taken the declaration to the clerk’s office, and the 
suit of Steadman vs. Hume is before now undoubtedly 
commenced.” 

“ Well,” replied Stacy, “ I suppose that is what 
we want. Everything seemed to be ready last even- 
ing.” 

“ Yes,” said Sharp, “ but a little further time might 
have strengthened some of the weak places. I shud- 
der when I think of the little circumstances which 
the other side will magnify into mountains to crush 


22 


338 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


“ Let us,” replied Stacy, “ trust to luck, and hope 
for tke best. It seems to me the will is a mountain 
that will annihilate them.” 

“ Think of those three terrible ifs that will not 
down at our bidding,” gloomily responded Sharp. 
And then he continued, while drops of perspiration 
appeared on his forehead : “ How came you to be 

the friend of Bright ? Who informed him of the old 
chest in the garret, and who procured him to search 
there for the picture, which never in fact had any ex- 
istence ? How came you to court the friendship of the 
vain Cicero ? Who gave him gifts, and by whose aid 
did you make your way to the observatory, thereby 
passing the very door to the garret where the will 
was found ? We may have to answer these questions, 
and I confess they are not very pleasant to contem- 
plate.” 

And so this glad day so long looked forward to 
came streaming in, but it was befogged with doubt 
and dread forebodings. 

What of the day at “ Evergreen Home ? ” In the 
morning Clare had accompanied the Doctor to the 
homes of several poor families not far away to ad- * 
minister to their wants and necessities, and as the 
evening drew on they had repaired to . the rustic 
seat near the fountain, and Clare was now reading to 
the Doctor Through Night to Light.” Soon there 
came an arrival at the gate, and a gentleman hurried 
up the walk, and approaching them said, “ I have the 
pleasure of addressing Doctor Hume, I believe ? ” To 
which the Doctor replied, “ Yes, sir. Will you please 
accompany me to the house ? ” 

“ No,” he said. “ I am the sheriff of this county, 
and I have a writ to serve upon you at the suit of 


TO-MORRO W. 


339 


Miles Steadman, wherein he demands immediate pos- 
session of all your real estate. His attorneys also 
directed me to serve you with a copy of the declara- 
tion, and the exhibits thereto attached. This envel- 
ope contains a copy of the papers.” This he said, 
and delivering into the Doctor’s hand the papers, and 
wishing him good day, left. 

The writ was entitled Miles Steadman^ plaintiff, 
versus Cornelius Hume^ defendant, and then followed 
a brief statement of the relief demanded, which was 
none other than the immediate possession as the 
owner thereof, of all the real estate of the defendant, 
including ‘‘Evergreen Home ” and much other landed 
property, and the other paper was a copy of the dec- 
laration, to which was attached a copy of Parbery’s 
will. 

The Doctor hurriedly opened the envelope and 
read the writ, the declaration, and the copy of the 
will, Clare looking over his shoulder and reading 
every word. 

Who can picture the alarm and dismay of that 
agonizing moment? Who can fathom and analyze, 
the feelings or the thoughts that flashed through their 
minds and their hearts in that instant of time ? The 
Doctor had supposed his home safe and secure upon 
its foundations as the Blue Hills in the distance, and 
if an earthquake had that moment swallowed them, 
and left a yawning chasm, he could have been no 
more astonished or amazed ; indeed if the sun had 
stayed its course in the heavens he could hardly have 
been more surprised or terrified. 

The subsequent will then, mentioned in the cancel- 
lation of the old one, had been found at last, and Par- 
bery’s daughters had deeded the property they did 


340 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


not own, and the Doctor was ruined, his dear-loved 
home gone, his fortune gone, and he, an old man, 
ruined at one fell blow. 

At the conclusion of reading the papers Clare put 
her arms around the old man’s neck and wept like a 
child. Neither spoke for some time, for the storm of 
thought and feeling would not permit them to utter 
a single word. Clare could see no light through the 
night of darkness that beclouded her mind. Not be- 
cause of herself did she suffer, but that such trouble 
should come to her kind benefactor, guardian, and 
friend, was more than she could endure. She caught 
the sight of Stacy’s name signed to the declaration, 
and instantly arrived at the conclusion that her rejec- 
tion of his proposal of marriage accounted in some 
mysterious manner for his connection with the case, 
and that circumstance might be the very cause of 
the suit. Then she reproached herself as the cause 
of this fearful disaster and ruin, and her tears flowed 
more bitterly than ever. 

“ Ah, my child, this is indeed terrible. Are we not 
in a troubled dream ? Oh, this pain in my head ! 
They may take the property, but they cannot, oh, 
they cannot have my darling child,” said the Doctor, 
agitated beyond control. 

And Clare replying through her tears said : “ Have 
I not promised in my soul to love you as a father, 
and what does that imply? Not that I should leave 
you when direful calamity comes. No, in adversity 
my love burns brightest. I shall not leave you while 
I live.” 

“Tell me, my child, is Doctor Hume a pauper? 
Are we worthless beggars ? ” inquired the Doctor, al- 
most delirious. 




TO-MORROW. 


341 

“ Let us hope not : God is just,” answered Clare. 

Soon the sister was informed of the calamity that 
had befallen her house and home. It was a sad and 
sorrowful time. The future looked black with im- 
pending terrors, yea, there was no light anywhere. 
The night closed in dismally upon “ Evergreen 
Home,” as if death had entered it and plucked its 
choicest flower. Even the fountain of tears had dried 
up and would bring no relief. Their tongues were 
paralyzed by the fate that had befallen them. The 
night wore on, still were they busy with their silent 
thoughts. At last they retired to their separate 
chambers. The accustomed kiss and good-night were 
the saddest Clare had ever known at the home of her 
benefactor. Their retirement brought them no sleep 
and no rest. The fitful naps in which they now and 
then lost themselves for an instant were crowded 
with terrible dreams that seemed to endure for ages. 
The clock in the hall rang out the sluggish hours 
shrill and clear, and the sound thereof echoed mourn- 
fully through the silent rooms as if tolling the knell 
of departed joys. Midnight came, but with it no rest 
and no sleep. The silence and the darkness were op- 
pressive ; it seemed as if the light would never come — 
as if it had vanished from the earth. After a seem- 
ing age of suffering the clock struck one, and thus 
the night wore itself out at last, having concentrated 
within itself the misery of a life-time, but the morn- 
ing sun brought no light and no hope to the troubled 
household. Midnight still held sway in their hearts, 
and still did the clock toll off the time as if sounding 
the knell of departed joys. 

Early in the day the Doctor repaired to the city to 
take counsel in his troubles. This was his first law- 


342 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


suit, and lie did not know whom to consult. There 
were many eminent lawyers with whom he had a 
passing acquaintance. The fame of Judge Kent as 
an advocate and counselor had years before been a 
household word in the city, and the Doctor, though 
but little acquainted with him personally, and though 
knowing that he had substantially retired from the 
practice, concluded to lay his case before him, pro- 
vided the old lawyer would consent to hear it. He 
knew that Judge Kent had been the counsel of Par- 
bery’s daughters in the settlement of their father’s 
estate, and this circumstance further persuaded him 
to employ the Judge in his case. 

Entering the Judge’s office, the Doctor was shown 
by a young man, apparently a student there, into an- 
other room where the Judge was sitting. What a 
world of joy would have dawned upon this young 
man had he known who the Doctor was and the 
members of his household, but the door, as it closed 
upon the Doctor when he met the Judge, seemed to 
shut out the opportunity of making this great dis- 
covery. 

The Judge, as the Doctor entered, looked up from 
the book he was reading, and with surprise, yet with 
his accustomed elegance and civility, said heartily : 
“ Why, Doctor Hume, I am glad indeed to see you. 
Will you be seated ? ” 

“ And I am glad to meet you,” said the Doctor. 
“ I see time has been busy with you as well as with 
me,” he said, as he noticed the white locks of the 
Judge. 

“ Oh yes, it has been so busy and so unceasing in 
its labors and its triumphs that I have pretty much 
surrendered to it the field, and it will not be very 


TO-MORRO W. 


343 


long before it makes a complete conquest-. I see 
we are both growing old. I remember you well in 
your early career, but since then circumstances have 
seemed to separate us. I value the opportunity of 
renewing our old acquaintance. I have not seen you 
but a moment before since your return from Europe. 
How have these relentless years treated you, Doctor? 
You are looking weary and tired. Take this easy- 
chair.” 

“ Judge,” said the Doctor with an anxious, haggard 
look, taking the proffered seat, “ I am in trouble, 
very great trouble, and I came to you for help. For 
the first time in my life I am a party in court.” 

“ Indeed,” said the Judge, “ a lawsuit must be 
new and harassing business to you, for in my long 
time at the bar I never before heard of your being in 
court. It must be very annoying to a man of your 
tastes and habits. I have read with pleasure of your 
lectures, and of their great success in Europe, and I 
had hoped for an opportunity to converse with you 
upon the subject of your impressions of European 
life, but I see you are not in the right frame of mind 
for that this morning. I hardly know if I can help 
you in your trouble : you are aware that I have sub- 
stantially retired from the practice, and simply keep 
an ofiice open here from habit, and for a place to do 
what little writing I cannot well avoid.” 

“ I hope. Judge,” replied the Doctor, “ that you will 
let me state my case to you, for it seems to me im- 
possible to speak of it to any one but you,” and his 
voice was agitated almost beyond control. “ Per- 
haps when you hear my story, you may be induced to 
help me.” 

Then the Judge, seeing the agitation of the Doc- 


344 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


tor and his look of despair, quickly said : “Of course 
you may state your case, and I will give you all the 
aid I feel able to, and I promise this because of our 
old acquaintance long ago.” 

“ It is to the long ago,” answered the Doctor, “ that 
I will at first refer. You undoubtedly remember Mr. 
Parbery, a wealthy merchant of this city, who died 
some sixteen years ago, leaving three daughters who 
inherited his estate ? ” 

“Yes,” said the Judge, becoming interested in the 
Doctor’s statement, “ I well remember Parbery and 
his daughters ; I acted as attorney for them, you will 
recollect, in the settlement of their father’s estate.” 

“ You will also remember,” continued the Doctor, 
“ that I purchased from the daughters the real estate 
they inherited from their father. If I am not mis- 
taken you drew the deeds by which they conveyed to 
me.” 

“ My memory,” said the Judge, “ is not clear as 
to drawing the deeds, but I was familiar with the 
transaction, and knew that you became the owner of 
the property.” 

The Doctor then handed him the deeds, which he 
had taken with him, and the Judge, after examining 
them, said, “ Yes, I drew them. This is my hand- 
writing.” 

The Doctor then inquired, “ Do you remember any- 
thing concerning a will of Parbery ’s ? ” 

“I recollect,” answered the Judge, “something 
about a will, but cannot speak definitely upon the 
subject. If I am not mistaken, there was a will pro- 
duced in the Probate Court, but it had been can- 
celed, or was not witnessed, or something of the 
kind; at any rate it was not admitted to Probate, 


TO-MORRO W. 


345 

and letters of administration were issued upon the 
estate.” 

“ You are correct,” said the Doctor, “ there was a 
will produced at the Probate Office, but underneath 
it there were written these words : ‘ This will is can- 
celed and revoked. My property will be disposed of 
by a new will,’ or words to that effect, which revo- 
cation was duly signed by Parbery and witnessed.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said the Judge, “ the facts now come 
to my mind. There was a legatee in the will, who 
made some trouble because he did not receive his 
legacy. Yes, I recollect. The cancellation referred 
to a new or subsequent will, and no such will was 
ever found.” 

“ I have now. Judge, sufficiently refreshed your 
memory to enable you to comprehend the nature and 
extent of my trouble. I feel that I am standing 
upon the verge of ruin. I do not see why I am not, 
at one cruel stroke, reduced to beggary. A subse- 
quent will has been found, and the legatee therein 
has sued me to recover all the property Parbery ’s 
daughters conveyed to me ; ” and the Doctor’s de- 
spairing look uttered more loudly than his words the 
agony he suffered. 

‘‘A subsequent will ! A subsequent will I Par- 
bery ’s daughters’ right to convey invalidated ! Doc- 
tor Hume, you surprise me beyond conception. Who, 
pray, is the legatee if not the daughters ? You have 
their title, and Parbery did not disinherit his daugh- 
ters. Have you a copy of the writ and declara- 
tion ? ” inquired the Judge, evincing the greatest as- 
tonishment. The Doctor produced these papers, and 
the Judge, glancing at the writ, exclaimed, “Miles 
Steadman ! Who on earth is Miles Steadman ! Do 


346 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


I read correctly ? Miles Steadman ! He was the 
legatee in the old will, and a drunken, worthless fel- 
low. He left Parbery’s long before the death of that 
person, and does he now claim all the property ? All 
the property ! ” 

“ Yes,” answered the Doctor, “he now claims the 
whole estate by virtue of the will attached to the 
declaration. The daughters are not even mentioned 
in the will, except to declare that they had already 
received fortunes from their father. Please read it.” 

“ Not mentioned only to say they had received for- 
tunes from their father,” said the Judge, “ and that 
statement is false. They did not receive anything 
from their father until after his death ; this I know, 
no matter what the will may declare. Let me read 
the will.” 

Then the Judge carefully read all the papers and 
the will, and placing them on the table, said : “ Doc- 
tor Hume, that is not the will of Parbery. It is not 
possible. There is something wrong here. Stead- 
man had merely worked for Parbery for years, and 
received his pay ; and loijg before Parbery’s death 
he had fallen into dissolute habits, and had left his 
employer, and undoubtedly this was the reason for 
the cancellation of the old will. Parbery thought he 
had turned out badly, and that money would do him 
no good, and hence revoked the legacy to him, and to 
do this revoked his will altogether. Parbery never 
disinherited his daughters. There never was a more 
fond and doting parent. His daughters were all the 
world to him. He never made the statement that 
he had given to his daughters fortunes, for it is not 
true. There is villainy here somewhere. The prom- 
ise of the old will has caused this one to be manufac- 


TO-MORROW. 


347 

tured. I will take your case at once, and aid you to 
the extent of my ability.” 

A gleam of hope sparkled in the Doctor’s eyes as 
the Judge uttered these words, and they entered into 
a minute examination of the case. At the conclusion 
of the examination the Doctor inquired, “Do you 
know the plaintiff’s attorneys?” 

“ Yes, I know them by reputation,” answered the 
Judge ; “ and that they should be engaged in such a 
case as this, if the claim were honest, was one of the 
first things that aroused my suspicions. I know Pop- 
per and Sharp to be the attorneys of thieves and vil- 
lains, and that they are criminals themselves ; and as 
to Stacy, he studied law with me, and his greed for 
money is sure to lead him to crime.” 

The Doctor then informed the Judge of all the <jir- 
cumstances attending the acquaintance of Stacy and 
Clare, his child, and at the conclusion of the statement 
the Judge said : “You quite astonish me, but the in- 
formation may be valuable. Trifling things some- 
times lead to wonderful discoveries. It seems that 
Stacy once attempted to secure your property, .and 
failed ; this may be the second effort. Let us hope 
he will fail again. But it is always difficult to set 
aside a will. They are instruments of the very high- 
est character, and it requires a strong case to disturb 
them. I will do my utmost to unearth this mystery.” 

“ I commit everything to your hands,” feelingly 
said the Doctor. 

A week passed, and the gloom of utter desolation 
settled down upon “ Evergreen Home.” The great 
calamity blighted everything. It was in the great 
rooms, and gave to them a hollow, empty appear- 
ance ; it made the very air oppressive, and the moan- 


348 


cZaRE LINCOLN. 


ing wind among the trees seemed to sigh the notes of 
sorrow and sadness. Even the fountain as it played 
caught the infection, and was in tears, while the old 
clock in the hall continued to toll the knell of de- 
parted joys. It blighted all hope and mildewed all 
joy, and the inmates of the house went about as if 
carrying great burdens on their shoulders. The ser- 
vants were dismayed, and spoke in whispers, and 
when approaching any of the family, would uncover 
their heads as if in respect for their sorrow. Miss 
Sibyl was in horrors ; her evil predictions had come 
true ; but, kind soul that she was, when real trouble 
came she ceased her complainings, and went about 
her labors with a stout heart. 

Clare, after, the tempest had passed and spent its 
fury, felt calm and self-possessed. She had resources 
to fall back upon that did not fail her in the trying 
hour. Her education had not been in vain. She pos- 
sessed an equanimity that held steady the balance of 
her mind in the midst of the storms of life ; and if 
in prosperity she was not elated with success, so ad- 
versity did not morbidly depress her. Her education 
was polished, her accomplishments rare, and all the 
generous gift of the Doctor’s bountiful hand combined 
with her ambition for study. They formed a fortune 
that no perjury, robbery, fraud, or forgery could de- 
prive her of ; they were all her own, and no profane 
or wicked hand could reach forth and pluck these 
jewels from her shining crown. Why despair as long 
as these remained ? She would not ; and she would 
use these precious gifts that nature and education had 
intrusted to her care and keeping, to blunt the edge 
of the catastrophe that had befallen her house and 


TO-MORRO W. 


349 

her home. There is a balm in culture ; there is 
strength and power in a well-stored mind ; there are 
inherent, unfailing resources in broad learning and 
a pure heart ; and Clare possessed this talismanic 
power, this healing balm, and it guided her safely 
to the still waters of peace and contentment. By 
its aid she would rise above the great calamity, and 
defy it ; she would brave the storm and bid it do its 
worst ; she would be superior to and master it ; and 
then from the ashes of her troubles and blasted hopes 
there arose a godlike courage, sublime in its divine 
power and grandeur, that enabled her to command 
the troubled, raging sea, and bid the tempest be still. 
Money did not make up much of a true life, and 
wealth was not happiness. Fortune, so uncertain, so 
capricious, so fleeting, that could be lost by a trifling 
accident or the scratch of a pen, should not control 
her destiny, — should not mould the capacity of 
her mind or her heart, for the attainment of those 
thoughts or for the doing of those acts that constitute 
the whole of a true life ; but her destiny, her loves, 
her hopes, her virtues, and her charity should be 
anchored upon a foundation so strong and steadfast 
that accidental circumstances, the creatures often of 
wickedness and crime, could not disturb them. She 
would be happy within herself and of herself ; she 
would carry about her the balm for every trouble, 
the antidote for every blasted hope, and instead of 
permitting accidents and trifles to control her, she 
would control and master them. She would not be 
the plaything of every adverse wind, the feather of 
every storm ; but, strong in her love and faith and 
trust, confiding in the beneficence of a loving God, 
she would so arm and equip herself with these weap- 


1 


350 CLARE LINCOLN. 

ons, that she could guide the tempest and convert it 
into an instrument of goodness. 

And thus she became cheerful. Hope resumed 
again its power, and she spoke words of comfort and 
consolation. She became again the ray of brightness 
shining into the desolate home, the angel of the house- 
hold. The Doctor and his sister looked up to her for 
everything as to a superior being who had their fates 
in her hands ; they hung upon the skirts of her gar- 
ments ; her opinion with them became absolute law ; 
they were as children whom she guided ; and when 
they grieved she soothed them ; when they were op- 
pressed with fear and alarm, she drove their troubles 
away. 

Thus in adversity, as in prosperity, did Clare be- 
come the hope of “ Evergreen Home.’’ 

\ 


I 


PREPARING. 


351 


CHAPTER XXX. 

PKEPAKING. 

Judge Kent early informed Richard of the case 
of Steadman against Hume. He also informed him 
that he had departed from his resolution not to re- 
ceive any more business, and had taken the case, upon 
behalf of the defendant, in consideration of its nature 
and importance, and of his connection with some of 
the parties in interest years ago. He made known 
to Richard minutely all the details of the case, so far 
as he knew them, and the nature of the defense to be 
made. Then said the Judge : “ I have taken this 
case not for myself but for you. My race as a lawyer 
is nearly run, while yours is just commencing ; I do 
not expect to win any laurels in the trial, I have no 
ambition in that direction, neither do I wish to make 
it the means of adding anything to my fortune, while 
you have a reputation and a fortune yet to earn. I 
well know how hard it is for a young lawyer to get 
business, and one reason for my taking this case was 
to help you, and to give you an opportunity to help 
yourself. Another consideration, — Parbery was a 
friend of mine, and I assisted his daughters, as a mere 
matter of friendship, in the settlement of his estate. 
The property, though having passed into other hands, 
is again in trouble, and I cannot quite abandon it. 
Naught but a sense of duty, and a desire to help old 
friends and you, would again have tempted me from 


352 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


the calm retreat of my retirement, and as it is I shall 
put the burden of the case upon your young shoul- ^ 
ders. They are broad and strong, and will have to 
carry many burdens before your race as a lawyer is 
ended. This suit furnishes a wide field for thought 
and research, in which a lawyer can exhaust all his 
learning and ambition. It is one of that class of 
cases in which the law is very simple, and over which 
there can be no . controversy, but which calls upon a 
lawyer to bring all his experience of men and things 
and all his knowledge of human nature into requisi- 
tion in ^aiding him to discover the motives of men 
from their acts. And you will be called upon to en- 
ter that labyrinth of speculation and study wherein 
you must reveal the intentions of men from their acts, 
when you know that the act is intended to carefully 
conceal the real intention and purpose. You will be 
expected to discover the secret object, the hidden 
thought, although covered up by the most subtle and 
profound skill, by the most artful and cunningly de- 
vised deception, and by the use of the most appar- 
ently honest and fair words and deeds. The lawyer 
must become so skillful in reading men’s thoughts, that 
by the remotest sign he can fathom the whole work- 
ing of the mind ; that from a word or an appearance, 
seemingly so natural, so honest, so true, put forward 
to deceive, he will be directed unerringly to the hid- 
den purpose, and the secret thought and intention. 
From a chance word he must reveal the sentence, and 
from the sentence he must produce the whole book. 
He must reconstruct, from a word, from a look, or 
from a trifling circumstance, the whole fabric of a con- 
spiracy, the entire plot of a crime, in all its secret and 
covert ways, as the naturalist, having in his hand a 


PREPARING. 


353 

bone from a bird, will therefrom rebuild the structure 
of the entire animal in all the beauty of its exact pro- 
portions, — so unerringly do the things we can see or 
the words we hear point to others that must have ex- 
isted before the word or act we have heard or seen 
could have been possible. He must learn that every 
act and every word bears an exact relation to some- 
thing else that has gone before it, its author and its 
cause ; that the act could not have been performed 
or the word uttered except for the existence of a cer- 
tain state of things in the mind or in the physical 
world ; and his study of the relation of things must be 
so profound, that when the sign is given in the chance 
word or ■ act, in the incautious, unguarded expression 
or thought, he can at once expose to view the whole 
world of thought that must have existed to produce 
the one overheard, the whole chain of circumstances 
that must exist in order to render possible the exist- 
ence of the one brought to view. Every thought, 
every word, every look, is but the picture of something 
behind it, and from the picture the reality must be 
discovered. And from the picture that is seen, others 
unseen, but from the nature and relation of things 
known to exist, must be brought to view. A word 
is spoken, an act performed, and these are but the 
effects of causes ; these are but the children, and from 
them their parentage must be discovered. 

“ All knowledge cannot be learned from books ; we 
must study men, and learn how to fathom their secret 
thoughts and hidden acts from the obscure signs that 
their efforts at concealment always reveal. 

“ This suit is one that will call into requisition all 
these powers of the mind, — one in which you, the son 
of my old friend, can make for yourself a name. The 


354 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


suit will attract public attention, and the lawyer en- 
gaged in it is sure to receive praise or condemnation 
as he shall conduct himself. You can therefore make 
it a stepping-stone upon which to rise to position, 
wealth, and fame. You will remember that I once 
advised you to restore Pembroke Place to your parents 
by the law, and I now ask you to go into this case as 
if you were attempting to save the home of your 
childhood from ruin and disgrace. Make yourself a 
profound lawyer ; hew out for yourself a name and 
reputation, and the home you love will nestle again 
securely in the arms of the children of its blood. Here 
is the opportunity ; I open the door, and bid you 
enter.” 

Thus invited, Richard entered upon the preparation 
of his first cause. Stacy’s connection with the case, 
as shown by his name signed to the declaration, and 
Richard’s early conversation with him, were the two 
circumstances that first attracted the attention of the 
young lawyer. Did these two trifles direct his inves- 
tigations into the right channel ? The results further 
along will show. 

And now the Doctor was in daily consultation with 
the J udge. The conspirators saw and trembled. Had 
Bright, Cicero, or Uncle George made any disclosures ? 

The shadows thicken at the law office with the yel- 
low and green sign ; the bats are congregating in the 
darkened corners ; they cover the bed-posts and haunt 
the anxious sleepers. Ply your drugs to Steadman, 
and drill your perjured witnesses, for they will be 
needed. 

Had the Parbery daughters been found by Hume ? 
Who were these ladies just entering the office of Kent ? 
And there, one of them has a package of papers with 




PREPARING. 


355 

her. AVas the old chest in the garret surrendering 
up its secrets ? If so, who had directed attention to it ? 
Had the meek-eyed Bright forfeited his honor ? Had 
he received money for his silence, and yet disclosed 
his visit to the old chest ? 

The answer of Doctor Hume, signed by Judge Kent 
as attorney for the defendant, caused another scare in 
the oflBce of Popper and Sharp. They did not like 
its complexion. The allegation that the will under 
which plaintiff claimed was false and forged made 
them tremble again. Then said Popper : “ Did you 
suppose Hume would employ a second rate lawyer ? 
I knew he would have the best in the country, and 
his employing Kent does not surprise me at all.” 

“ But he charges forgery,” said Sharp. “He says 
the will under which we claim is counterfeit,” and 
there was a perceptible motion at his knees. 

“ What else could he charge ? ” asked Popper. 
“ Did you suppose he would admit the will to be gen- 
uine, and tamely surrender property worth half a 
million of money ? ” 

“ Steadman is the forger, if any one,” said Sharp. 
“ He is the party to be benefited by the will, and of 
course the forgery, if any is discovered, will be charged 
upon him ; we are simply the attorneys for the plain- 
tiff as Kent is for the defendant.” 

But the ghost would not down at his bidding, and 
again was the consultation room converted into a 
prison with grim walls and dungeon bars. 

Popper, replying to Sharp, said : “ Your theory is 
correct. Sharp ; we are simply the attorneys for the 
plaintiff. That is all, but you must keep your knees 
still, or somebody might suspect something more. 
Old attorneys do not often tremble over their cases. 


9 


856 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Then said Stacy ; “I studied law with Kent ; I do 
not feel much like meeting him in court in such a case 
as this. I suppose Pembroke the virtuous, Pembroke 
the adorable, will be with him in the case. I think I 
can manage Mr. Pembroke ; I once gave him a talking 
to that he must remember to this day. I told him a 
few things he never dreamed of before (true enough) , 
and I fear no attack from him.” And he grew brave 
as he recalled his last interview with Richard. 

Popper replied by saying : “ The fact that you 
studied with Kent does not have much to do with this 
case; and if we can judge of the knowledge of the 
master by that of the student, I should not say that 
Kent was the greatest lawyer in the world. But, 
Sharp, our twenty years’ experience is not to be 
trifled with. I am willing to match it against the 
experience of any firm in the country. How is it 
with you. Sharp ? ” 

“ The case must be fought to the bitter end,” the 
partner replied. “ I see no escape for the defendant if 
our witnesses do not talk too much. I only fear 
Bright, Cicero, and George, the servants. If there 
has been any commotion about the house and home 
of the defendant in consequence of this suit, as very 
likely there may have been, and these fellows should 
get hold of the cause of it and learn who brought 
the suit, then there is a possibility of their disclosing 
some things that would not be pleasant for our case. 
How easy it would be for Bright to say that he found 
the will in the old chest, and that he was sent there 
by Stacy. Here is the only danger. But the will, 
after all, is the great potential fact, and if that stands 
the test, what does it matter who has been in the gar- 
ret ? And in any event Steadman is the party in in- 
terest, and will suffer if worst comes to worst.” 


PREPARING. 


35T 


Sharp had really argued himself into a smile, but 
it was of the old hypocritical kind, and soon vanished, 
and before they retired for the night the bats were 
again roosting on the bed-posts and in the darkened 
corners. 


358 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


CHAPTER XXXL 
CLARE AND THE LAWSUIT. 

In the darkness and the gloom that rested upon 
“ Evergreen Home ” Clare was the star of the night, 
the bud of promise, the ray of hope that gladdened 
this sorrowing household. The Doctor and his sister 
were lost when out of her sight, like bewildered chil- 
dren crying for the light and for home. She spoke 
to them great words of comfort and consolation. To 
them all was not lost while she remained ; there was 
hope while yet her great soul did not despair. Then 
indeed did Clare, the child, the consoler, become the 
staff to their tottering footsteps, while their western 
sun was going down amidst clouds, storm, and dark- 
ness. 

She now felt that they leaned upon her for support, 
and this feeling inspired her with strength, power, 
and courage. Gratified beyond expression to be able 
to help her benefactors, she felt able to contend with 
every difficulty and danger in laboring to shield them 
from harm. And when she saw them overburdened 
by their load of trouble, she became stronger as their 
burdens increased, and was inspired with strength and 
hope as they became discouraged. 

She believed the will a forgery. And another im- 
pression had taken absolute possession of her, and it 
was this : “ That Parbery did in fact make a subse- 
quent will.” He had promised a new will in the can- 


CLARE AND THE LAWSUIT. 359 

cellation of the old one, and she believed that in the 
matter of making a will, whereby a vast estate was 
to be disposed of, with Steadman in a position to 
make a claim thereon, there would be no procrastina- 
tion and no neglect in making a new will. Every 
dictate of prudence would have urged the execution of 
a new will, and she believed one had been made and 
was then in existence^ and that by some accident or 
mistake it had been overlooked and lost. And an- 
other impression equally strong possessed her : “ That 
the subsequent will could be found and this lawsuit 
defeated, the fortune of the Doctor saved and the for- 
gery exposed.” 

The days passed on, but the lawsuit continually 
dwelt upon her mind, and she was more and more 
impressed that a new will could be found. Her read- 
ing, her music, and her books, everything gave way 
to this thought. It controlled her life. 

Impressions come to us, we know not from whence 
or where ; they seem to be borne into our minds upon 
the very air ; we seize them, and they guide us hither 
and thither, moulding our actions and directing our 
thoughts ; we do not question the language they ut- 
ter, but blindly obey them, as if revelations from a 
higher power ; they are not taught in any of the 
books, and are not learned at any of the schools ; they 
come to us without any invitation, and give no warn- 
ing of their coming ; they are unbidden visitors, yet 
we welcome them, and their power we cannot resist. 
They are inspirations, and speak the language of 
prophecy ; they are shadows from the unknown world 
that hover so closely about us, and where the myste- 
rious future is hidden and concealed, — shadows lin- 
gering here, to afford occasional glimpses of the here- 
after, and to foretell coming events. 


360 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Call it the gift of prophecy, — name it a divine in- 
spiration, or the second-sight of the seer, — it is but 
a faculty of the human soul ; and ever thus has the 
Finite been allied to the Infinite ; ever thus has the 
puny voice of man revealed his parentage ; ever thus 
has the crying child, wandering in the darkness, 
shown his relationship to the Infinite Father. 

Thus was Clare impressed. She believed that 
Parbery had made a subsequent will, and that such 
will was then in existence ; that it could be found, 
and this belief controlled her ; it gave her no rest 
and no peace ; it demanded of her action and she 
obeyed ; she became its willing slave to do what it 
demanded, and she prepared to enter upon her search 
for the lost will. 

Before informing the Doctor of her purpose, she 
sought and obtained an interview with the Parbery 
daughters, and from them learned all the particulars 
of their father’s death, the time, place, and all the at- 
tending circumstances, the condition of his mind pre- 
viously to that event, his relations to Steadman, and 
every incidental fact in any manner connected with 
the great purpose she had in view. She learned from 
them that for several months preceding his death 
their father had resided abroad, partly for pleasure 
and partly for his health, and that being taken sud- 
denly worse, he repaired to the Isle of Wight, in the 
English Channel, in the hope of regaining his health, 
and there, in a farm-house near Newport, died. They 
gave her a description of the house as it had been 
given to them by a servant of their father who ac- 
companied him upon his travels, and who was with 
him at his death. The name of the family then oc- 
cupying the house was Harkness, and consisted of a 


CLARE AND THE LAWSUIT. 361 

man, John, and Mary his wife, youngerly people, and 
two young children. Their father had lived with 
this family several months previous to his death, for 
the benefit of the country air and to escape the noise 
of city life. His remains and personal effects were 
taken home by his servant. He died in September, 
1851. 

Why Clare made all these inquiries, and so care- 
fully elicited these facts, making a memorandum of 
names and dates, the daughters did not know, or in 
the remotest manner suspect. 

Clare returned to her gloomy home, but her soul 
was on fire. Though she had learned from the 
daughters that their father died far away she was not 
discouraged. Her burning impression was as strong 
as ever, and she then made the great resolve of her 
life, a resolve inspired by her true woman’s courage 
and love : That she would at once go to the Isle of 
Wight ; that she would enter the house where Par- 
bery had died ; that she would find the family who 
then occupied the house, and by this means find the 
new will she so firmly believed he had made. 

So real was her belief, so firm her hope, that when 
she again entered the walks and shades of her home 
she felt almost joyous and happy. Before entering 
the house she repaired to the old ruin and gazed upon 
the sparkling waters of the lake as if seeking the 
sights that inspired her childhood. She was calm, 
and a smile of peace lighted up her face. She had im- 
posed upon herself a mighty task, yet she did not 
dread it ; she did not fear it ; she could not resist ; 
she did not wish to ; she must go. It was a labor of 
faith, love, and gratitude. It was the inspiration of 
her life, the command of an unseen power, and she 


362 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


must obey without questioning ; she must believe and 
trust; her unclouded faith must direct her, and it 
did. I 

Entering the house she met the Doctor, and he ' 

said: “ Oh, my child, I am glad you have come. You j 

have been absent so long, and this foolish old man 
grows impatient when you are an hour from his sight. ! 
You are looking more like yourself this evening than ; 
at any time before since the great trouble came to | 
us.” i 

Clare hesitated. How could she introduce the 
subject that so absorbed her mind? She desired to 
present the matter in such a light that the Doctor 
would give his consent to her going to the Isle of 
Wight to search for the new will, but his remark dis- 
couraged her. She replied to him and said : “ Doc- 
tor, if I am looking better to-night it is because I j 
am feeling better. A new hope has been given me ; | 

I believe our home will yet be saved.” I 

The Doctor looked upon her in wonder. He had 
never seen such a radiance about her countenance be- | 

fore. Her great thought seemed to illuminate every i 

feature of her face, and to inspire her, and she further 
said : “ I believe. Doctor, that Mr. Parbery made a | 

new will, as the old one promises ; that his daugh- i 

ters are his legatees, and this new will can be found ^ 

if proper search be made.” Her face was now all i 

aglow with excitement, and she said : “ Mr. Parbery’s j 

daughters have informed me (for I have seen them i 

to-day) that their father died upon the Isle of Wight, ! 

that they have never searched for a will where he ! 

died, and have only examined his papers at home. . 

They believed at the time of his death that he had | 

made a new will and searched for it, but no search ^ 


CLARE AND THE LAWSUIT. 363 

was ever made where he died; and if he had not 
made a will before, when he felt his last illness had 
come, he certainly would have made a will, for this 
was his evident intention ; and though his daughters 
say all his papers and effects were sent home, some- 
thing may accidentally have been left behind. I am 
strongly, and I may say strangely, impressed with the 
belief that such is the case, and that I can find the 
new will of Mr, Parbery. Will you give me leave to 
search for it where I will ? ” 

Without saying directly where she intended to 
make the search, she thought it best to obtain leave, 
at first in a general way, to look for the new will. 
The Doctor always ready to yield to any request of 
Clare without question, and now trusting to her judg- 
ment in everything, readily answered : “ Of course, 
my darling child. You may do anything you wish 
without asking leave of me ; I feel more like asking 
your counsels than giving you my' own.” 

Only for you, Doctor, only for my dear guardian 
and friend whom I so dearly love, would I undertake 
what I now propose. Not for myself would I en- 
counter the perils of the undertaking; but for you, 
whose kind heart gave me a home when I was home- 
less, and who has been a dear father to me in my 
orphanage, for you I can endure anything. I can 
brave any danger even at the peril of my life. I pro- 
pose to search for Mr. Parbery ’s will in the house 
where he died upon the Isle of Wight.” 

The Doctor was startled, almost stunned by the 
announcement, and knew not how to answer her. He 
placed her hand in his own and said : “ My child ! 
My darling ! Anything but that I Anything but to 
leave us ! Anything but to encounter again the perils 


364 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


of the sea ! Oh no, I did not dream that my consent 
involved so much. The very thought makes me sick 
at heart. And then it is useless. All Parbery’s 
papers were sent home after his death, and certainly 
the most important paper of all was not left behind. 
I can endure the loss of property, fortune, and home, 
if but you are with me : but to lose you too ! I shud- 
der at the thought of your leaving me, and for such a 
journey, alone, on such an errand, and among stran- 
gers ! ” 

Then Clare, full of hope and cheerfulness, bravely 
said : “ Doctor, your generosity and kindness have 
made me accustomed to travel. You know our two 
years in Europe taught me much of the world, and I 
love the sea. It has been a kind friend to me ever since 
I can remember, and I do not fear it at all. I will 
be absent only a month or so ; it is but a short time, 
and how much good I might accomplish in that brief 
period. Here I am inactive, powerless to do you any 
good. Oh, please let me do something for you. Let 
me help you. I am able and strong, and I know it is 
my duty to go ; and if I should go and be successful, it 
would not repay you the debt of gratitude I owe you. 
It is true that all the papers and effects of Mr. Par- 
bery were supposed to have been sent home, but acci- 
dents are always occurring, mistakes are always being 
made, and something may have been left behind, — 
some useless thing, something supposed to have been 
entirely worthless. Mr. Parbery was only attended 
by a servant on his travels, who died shortly after his 
return to America with the remains of Mr. Parbery, 
and how easy for him to have made a mistake. The 
length of time that has elapsed is nothing. Suppose 
a package of papers was left in the house where he 


CLARE AND TEE LAWSUIT. 365 

died, with no mark or directions upon it as to where 
it was to be sent, it would remain there still, for more 
likely than not the inmates of the house did not know 
where Mr. Parbery resided or where his friends lived. 
That such a package was left behind I firmly believe ; 
I see it often in my dreams, and to me it is a reality. 
If a will was made during his last sickness, — and if 
not made before then it was undoubtedly made at that 
time, for such things if neglected before are thought 
of then, — and by any accident left in the house where 
he died, it is there still and I can find it. We cannot 
control our impressions, and the idea of finding a new 
will of Mr. Parbery of later date than the pretended 
will under which Steadman claims, in which the prop- 
erty is given to the daughters, to whom it naturally 
belongs, has complete possession of my mind, and I 
cannot resist the power of its commands. It will take 
but a little time to make the search. I will be home 
again within a few weeks, never to leave you again ; 
and now. Doctor, let me go with your consent and 
your blessing.” 

This appeal, so earnest, so calm, and yet so brave 
and determined, startled the Doctor still more, and 
before answering he begged to consider the matter 
for a day, and he did so. He immediately sought an 
interview with Judge Kent, and informed him of the 
strange impression and desire of his daughter (he al- 
ways spoke of Clare to the J udge as his daughter or 
his child) to make a search for a new will at the place 
where Parbery died on the Isle of Wight. The Judge 
at first thought it a foolish and a useless errand, and 
that no results but failure would follow therefrom. 
But he said there was a possibility, and but a possi- 
bility, of her effort being crowned with success ; that 


866 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


he had always considered it one of the mysterious 
things that could not be explained why no subsequent 
will had been found ; for knowing Parbery as he did, 
he certainly expected, as a matter of course, that he 
would make a new will, especially so after the prom- 
ise contained in the revocation of the old one ; and 
that there was a bare possibility, one chance in a 
thousand, that a will had been left behind, and that 
this might explain the mystery. “ Let her satisfy her 
mind upon the subject. Let her attempt to solve the 
mystery,’^ he said. “ Let her make the effort, for 
women sometimes have impressions that are proph- 
ecies ; they often know more by intuition than men 
by a lifetime of study, so let her satisfy herself. It 
will take but a little time. She will be here again 
before the suit is tried.” 

The day for consideration had almost expired, and 
still he hesitated. The idea appalled him. He ap- 
proached his home slowly and thoughtfully. Clare 
saw and ran to meet him. For an instant he caught 
her inspiration and consented that she should make 
the search, but the next moment was sorry enough 
that he had yielded to the impulse. But by much 
persuading she at length quieted his fears, and before 
she left him for the night he began to look upon her 
great undertaking cheerfully, and with a grain of 
hope. 

And now she was busy making preparations for the 
journey. Before leaving she wished to visit again 
her old home by the sea, and the grave of her brother 
there, for her contemplated journey was perilous, 
and it might be that she never would look upon the 
dear old home or the lonely grave again. After a 
hurried journey of four days, in company with Uncle 


CLARE AND THE LAWSUIT. 367 

George, she reached the place and again knelt over 
the grave of her brother, beneath the shade of the 
elm-tree she had planted so long ago, and now 
watered it with her tears. She went to the bluffs, 
and listened again to the voice of the infinite ocean. 
It seemed to give her friendly greetings and did not at 
all alarm her. Turning to leave the spot where she 
had stood so many times before, and to give the place 
a last lingering look, her attention was attracted to 
something that appeared like writing upon the white, 
smooth face of the bluffs. Approaching, she read 
these names, evidently written upon the rocks by 
using pieces of coal still remaining from the fires of 
long ago, — Clare Lincoln ; and directly beneath, 
Richard Pemroke. She stood and gazed as if 
transfixed. Her color came and went, but she did 
not move. What did it mean ? Stranger than the 
mystery of the will was the mystery of the names. 
A mystery, and yet a revelation. It caused her to 
believe Richard lived and that he was not far away. 
Only a few weeks before when she had visited the 
place, the rocks gave forth no such sign. And so 
Richard became a reality again, and instead of admir- 
ing him as a picture, a kind of imaginary thing 
whom she never expected to see, her feeling was in- 
stantly changed to love, — glorious, living, burning 
love, — and he became the idol of her heart. She re- 
turned to her home and left the names undisturbed, 
but she carried their picture and likeness engraven 
upon her heart, never to grow dim or fade away. 

And now she was busy making her final prepara- 
tions. She never faltered in her purpose, never 
doubted the propriety of what she was doing, never 
hesitated because of the magnitude of the undertak- 


368 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


ing. The mystery of the names upon the rocks in- 
spired her with new hope ; it crowned her labors with 
the halo of love ; it exalted her courage and glorified 
her womanhood. 

And now she had bidden farewell to the Doctor 
and his sister, — a solemn, tearful farewell, — and 
was again upon the sea. 


A GBEAT UNDERTAKING. 


369 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

A GREAT UNDERTAKING. 

And now the fading shores of the land she left be- 
hind her, the bluffs by her old home and the names 
thereon, the Blue Hills, the bay and city, had passed 
from her sight, and she was alone upon the sea. 
Naught but the blue expanse and the rolling waters 
met her gaze, and the good ship that bravely con- 
tended with the remorseless waves seemed but a 
speck, drifting and drifting away in illimitable space. 
Alone? No, not quite alone. Her memory was 
with her, and it peopled the lonely ocean with a 
world of hopes, troubles, loves, and fears. Alone? 
No, not alone, for Richard dwelt in her heart of hearts, 
its companion and idol. Alone? Not quite alone, 
for the goodly ship had many passengers, and among 
the number a beautiful girl, perhaps a year or two 
older than Clare. Her pleasing face and quiet man- 
ners ; her patient, dreamy look as she gazed upon the 
rolling waters, as if attempting to cause the great 
future to yield up its mysteries, at once attracted the 
attention of Clare, and very soon these two girls be- 
came intimately acquainted. This friend was jour- 
neying to meet her father in London, expecting to 
spend a few weeks with him in travel, and then to 
return to her home in America. But during the voy- 
age they became so attached to each other that the 
friend promised to meet Clare in London after she 
24 


870 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


had completed her search for the will, and accompany 
her home. 

Soon they reached Southampton, where they must 
separate, — Clare to make her way to the Isle of 
Wight, and her friend to London, to join her father. 
Clare now entered upon her great undertaking. She 
visited Weymouth, to meet Mr. and Mrs. L., whose 
acquaintance she had made on her first visit to Eng- 
land, and whom she now desired to accompany her 
to the Isle of Wight to assist her in her search. This 
they readily consented to do, and arriving at the isl- 
and and stopping at Newport, Mr. L. instituted in- 
quiries among his friends for information concerning 
a man by the name of Harkness, who, sixteen years 
previously, had lived in a farm-house not far from 
Newport. To find this house and search it had sent 
Clare across the Atlantic. But their inquiries were 
unavailing. No one knew or had ever heard any- 
thing of John Harkness. They inquired of the old- 
est residents, and examined the public records and 
offices, but obtained no information ; they looked 
upon the stones in the cemetery, but this silent city 
made no revelations ; they examined the church rec- 
ords, the records of wills, estates, and deeds, they 
advertised in the newspapers, but there was no tid- 
ings, not a word or a lisp to direct their footsteps. A 
week had now elapsed with no favorable results, and 
Clare’s friends returned to their home. The prospect 
was discouraging, but the brave girl did not falter in 
her efforts. For six days she prosecuted her in- 
quiries, and upon the seventh was informed that in a 
remote part of the island there lived a family by the 
name of Harkness. Thither she journeyed at once, 
and after many delays and hindrances reached the 


A GREAT UNDERTAKING. 371 

place, oiily to be informed that the family was not 
that of John Harkness ; but hope revived again on 
being assured that John Harkness was their cousin, 
and now lived on the Isle of Guernsey. Satisfied as 
to the identity of the cousin and the man she sought, 
but how faint the hope of finding him. It involved 
a search among the fishermen of the Channel Islands 
with poor prospects of being successful ; but the great 
hope and the unbounded faith of this devoted girl 
impelled her forward, while the voices from over the 
sea pleaded with her not to falter or hesitate. 

Hastily writing a line to her friend in London and 
the Doctor, she prepared to continue her search upon 
the Isle of Guernsey. 

Clare was again among the fishermen. The sights 
and sounds of her early life arose before her as in a 
dream; it was like the return to childhood after an 
absence of many years. She was again among the 
toilers of the sea. She listened to the songs, to the 
legends and tales, to the omens and superstitions of 
the children of the waves ; and when she entered this 
world of the marvelous and the wonderful, it was like 
returning to her old home by the bluffs. These pupils 
of Neptune, taught in the school that circles around 
all the world, form a community and a nation all 
their own ; and in this mythical kingdom, presided 
over by the god of the clouds and the storm ; in this 
floating, vapory commonwealth, the abode of weird 
legends, fabulous and strange, and the charmed home 
of omens and dreams, there dwells a hardy race of 
men with brave, kind hearts, citizens of this empire 
of mist and fog, who, from the natural causes sur- 
rounding them, have come universally to believe in 
the same signs, to think the same thoughts, to sing 
the same songs, and to heed the same superstitions. 


372 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


This mystic lore taught by the roaring billows, by 
the tempest and the sunshine, by the surf and the 
calm, by the tides and the clouds, is learned by all 
the subjects of old Neptune, in whose wide domain 
the sun never sets, and where the dawn, as it circles 
around the world of waters, forever calls his people to 
their labors. Every breeze teaches a lesson ; every 
fleeting, passing cloud is a book of revelation. This 
is the culture of the sea, the classic lore of the bil- 
lowy ocean, the choice learning of the unlearned 
fisherman. Thus does there come from the realms of 
the deep knowledge quaint and strange, learning cu- 
rious and acute, wisdom mysterious and profound, 
culture that the books do not teach, philosophy with- 
out a school or sect, songs that only the surfs and the 
waves can assist in singing, a literature without books, 
and a religious faith without a church, cloister, or 
monk. 

Into this world Clare entered, and it seemed like a 
return home after a long absence. The rumor that the 
beautiful daughter of an American fisherman would 
soon visit Guernsey had gone before her, and created a 
lively sensation among these hardy sons and daughters 
of the sea ; and when she came, so modest, so learned 
in their wisdom, they looked on in wonder. Clare 
knew well the French and German languages, and 
easily learned the dialect of the islanders, and soon 
felt at home with them. Her fame extended to the 
ends of the island. She, too, was a daughter of the 
sea. But while thus becoming acquainted with her 
new friends she lost no time or opportunity to make 
inquiries as to the whereabouts of John Harkness. 
She prosecuted her search with unyielding determi- 
nation, undaunted by difficulties and failures. Her 


A GREAT UNDERTAKING. 373 

impression was still strong, and her abiding faith did 
not desert her. The island resounded with her in- 
quiries, but still no tidings, and she searched on and 
on. The fishermen’s wives and daughters heartily 
aided her in the search. Even the little children 
would shout the name of John Harkness. 

At last from a remote shore of the island there 
came a rumor that a man by the name of Harkness 
had, six months before, taken on supplies for his boat 
in stress of weather, and purchased a fishing net at a 
little store there not often frequented for such pur- 
poses, and that he claimed to hail from the Isle of 
Jersey. Hastily tracing the story to its source, Clare 
soon arrived at the place where Harkness, or whoever 
he might have been, had taken on supplies. She 
there learned that the man calling himself Harkness 
had been driven into the unfrequented harbor in a 
storm while on a fishing voyage, and that he claimed 
to live in the Isle of Jersey. This was all, and faint 
as was the promise it fanned into a blaze of expecta- 
tion the hopes of Clare. Under the impulse of this 
shadowy discovery she wrote the Doctor that she had 
heard of Harkness and that she hoped soon to find 
him. Brave girl. Her courage and resolution seemed 
divinely inspired. 

Arriving in Jersey she again entered on her task, and 
as the first week of her search was closing gloomily, 
and just as she was writing the Doctor that Harkness 
could not be found and that she would soon return 
home, there came a stranger to her door, and open- 
ing it, there stood before her a middle-aged woman, 
neatly clad, who inquired in good English if the per- 
son whom she addressed was Clare Lincoln, the fish- 
erman’s daughter, from America. Being informed in 


374 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


the affirmative, Clare invited her into the room. Sh^ 
soon learned to her joy that her visitor was Mary, the 
wife of John Harkness, and shortly John himself ap- 
peared and gave to the fisherman’s daughter a hearty 
greeting. “ God be praised ! ” said Clare, “ that we 
have met at last,” while tears of joy glistened in her 
eyes. 

Clare informed them of her errand, of the mysteri- 
ous impression that sent her on the journey and the 
search, and of the vast interests depending on her 
success, and their generous, kind hearts at once were 
in full sympathy with her brave undertaking. Then 
Harkness said: “A short time before the death of 
Parbery at our house we signed our names to some 
kind of a paper as witnesses. Do you not recollect 
it, mother ? The poor man was feeling badly at the 
time and talked so much of his three daughters at 
home.” 

Then said Clare, triumphantly, “ The paper you 
signed was the will of Mr. Parbery. I feel it to be 
so in my very soul.” 

“ It might have been a will or it might not ; I do 
not know ; a lawyer came from Newport to Mr. Par- 
bery at the time,” continued Harkness. 

“ Oh, it must have been Mr. Parbery ’s will. A 
lawyer drew it and you witnessed it,” excitedly said 
Clare, hardly able to restrain her joy. 

“ It was long ago,” said Harkness, “ and I never 
knew what the paper was.” 

He then gave an account of Parbery’s sickness and 
death at his house. 

Clare had never been so excited, and she prepared 
to journey with her friends to Newport, cheered with 
a great hope and the fondest expectations, while they 


A GREAT UNDERTAKING. 


875 


were glad to return once more to their former home 
after so long an absence. Arriving at Newport late in 
the evening they put up for the night ; but Clare, so 
near the spot where Parbery had died and where her 
great search was again to commence, could not sleep, 
and impatiently awaited the dawn of the coming day, 
which she did not doubt would crown her efforts with 
success. The sun arose bright and clear on this event- 
ful morning, but its brightness was eclipsed by the star 
of hope that had arisen upon the horizon of Clare’s 
clouded life. In its light, shining pure and steady, 
she lived. It was a glorious life ; it inspired her 
with strength ; it added energy to her powerful 
mind ; it intensified the love of her loving heart. In 
this supreme moment her mind flashed across the sea, 
and backwards through years and years to the day 
when she first saw Richard Pembroke, and forward 
to the names upon the rocks, and this mystery was 
glorified. 

The old Harkness house was but a mile from New- 
port, and they arrived there early in the morning, — 
earlier perhaps on account of Clare’s impatience than 
was judicious to insure a cordial reception. The prop- 
erty was now owned and occupied by a man named 
Grundy. He was crusty and old, corpulent and 
gray- haired, but after much negotiating and diplo- 
macy they gained admission to the premises. Hark- 
ness at first was doubtful as to the identity of the 
place, it had been so changed and improved. The 
house now occupied by Grundy was a commodious 
brick, built in the modern style, and in the rear and 
to the left stood the old farm-house where Harkness 
had lived and Parbery had died. 

With Harkness as her guide, Clare now stood in 


376 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


the very room where Parbery had died. No wonder 
she was agitated. The farm-house, since the erection 
of the more imposing structure where the Grundy 
family resided, had been used as a store-house, and in 
it was an accumulation of rubbish such as always 
gathers in the habitations where men have lived and 
died. The building was of stone, — old, very old, and 
overgrown with ivy ancient as itself. The lower 
story was composed of eight rooms, the story above 
was divided into six apartnfents, and over all an attic. 
Into these rooms was promiscuously thrown the accu- 
mulation of discarded and worn-out material for years 
and years. The first three days of the search were 
made in the lower rooms without any success, not a 
vestige of anything being found that had ever belonged 
to Parbery. Clare entered the chambers, still with 
hope. Three days spent there made no revelations, 
and she entered the attic, yet with courage. Here she 
found many old newspapers, letters, and scraps of 
writing of no consequence to any one. After wading 
through a mass of written and printed matter, covered 
with mould and dust, she came to an old box imbed- 
ded beneath the other stuff and in it found letters and 
papers addressed to Parbery. With infinite care she 
examined every paper it contained, but the fond hopes 
excited by this discovery were cruelly blasted as the 
last paper was removed and nothing of any conse- 
quence found. Still she did not despair. Something 
at least had been left behind. She renewed her 
search with vigor. For three days she remained in 
the attic, but with no better success ; yet she could 
not give up the box, and again and again returned to 
it and examined its contents. She clung to it as to 
the forlorn hope. Everything else had vanished 
away. 


A GREAT UNDERTAKING. 


377 


And had it come to this? Must she despair at 
last ? Was all this labor of love for naught ? The 
house where Parbery had died had been examined in 
every nook and corner, but it made no revelations. 
Crushed and despairing, Clare cried out in her an- 
guish, “ Oh, Doctor Hume, dear, generous friend, 
how anxiously and fondly have I labored to save your 
home, and to bring you peace and happiness again. 
But all in vain. There is no hope. My impression so 
strong and commanding was but an idle dream born 
of my love. Dear ‘ Evergreen Home ’ must be sac- 
rificed upon the altar of revenge.’’ 

In her despair and utter desolation of mind and 
heart she sent a telegraphic dispatch to the Doctor, 
saying, “ The Harkness house searched. No will 
found. Beturn immediately.” 

Still she lingered about the house as if chained and 
bound to the spot. She could not leave, and deter- 
mined to remain yet another day. 


378 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


1 


CHAPTER XXXm. 

Esr COURT. 

The term of court was fast approaching. There 
was an unusual stir in legal circles. The case of 
Steadman versus Hume had been placed on the 
trial calendar. Each party had spent months in 
preparation, and each was now fully armed for the 
combat. On one side, all that profound learning and 
patient study could accomplish had been performed, 
and on the other, all the resources of cunning and cor- 
ruption had contributed to build up the case of the 
plaintiff. It was a colossal action. The amount of 
property involved, the standing and social position of 
the parties, the striking contrast in the ability of the 
attorneys engaged, all conspired to direct the atten- 
tion of the legal profession to the pending action ; in- 
deed the interest in the case extended beyond the 
ranks of the profession, and was caught up by the 
public generally, for the Doctor was known to the 
people, while his acts of philanthropy and benevo- 
lence had caused his name to be revered and loved in 
many a humble home. 

Steadman was unknown, and the most active in- 
quiry of a curious public could elicit no information 
concerning him. Popper and Sharp kept him well 
concealed, and this mystery concerning the claimant 
of the property kept alive and fanned to a flame the 
excitement and interest that surrounded the case. 


IN COURT. 


379 

The term of court was at hand. Anx;ious suitors 
of all ages and conditions came thronging to the 
court room, bringing with them their ills and their 
troubles, their angry disputes and contentions ; trem- 
bling age was there, resting upon the verge of the 
grave, at the journey’s end, bowed down by the 
weight of years and cares innumerable, yet eagerly 
contending for imagined rights, or for the redress of 
shadowy grievances, as if life were to endure forever ; 
avarice was there, with piercing eye and bony fingers 
clutching its ill-gotten gains, and grasping still for 
more, as if salvation were hidden in the dross of 
gold ; youth was there, fresh, blooming, and glorious ; 
orphans, awaiting the distribution of their fathers’ 
estates, and others asking for homes, such as the law 
provides for the destitute ; thither widows came op- 
pressed with grief, sorrowfully asking that their cher- 
ished homes be preserved from the remorseless cred- 
itor ; the culprit came, bound in irons, to receive pun- 
ishment for his crimes ; the merchant and the farmer, 
the artisan and the manufacturer, every trade and 
every business came with their tangled and compli- 
cated rights and conflicting interests, to be adjusted 
and protected : then came the lawyers, the good and 
great of the profession, and the shyster and pettifog- 
ger ; those who adorn and glorify their great employ- 
ment, and those who show to what base uses the no- 
blest profession may be prostituted ; those learned in 
the law, who had grown gray in righting the wrongs 
of the oppressed and the weak, and the pretenders, 
the demagogues, the disciples of deception, low trick- 
ery, and fraud, — the evil plotters of evil, the dark 
schemers of darkness ; those who walk in the exalted 
domain of logic and right reason, whose noble words 


380 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


vindicate and maintain the cause of justice and truth 
against the assaults of wickedness and corruption, and 
those who make the law an instrument of oppression 
and wrong, the vampires and pests of civilization, those 
worse than useless creatures, who live by blighting the 
lives of others, and whom only Omnipotence knows 
why they were created ; then came the witnesses and 
jurymen, professional and otherwise, and the general 
hangers-on of court, — those who are busy with the 
business of every one except their own, and who dur- 
ing each term of court gather a fund of scandal, to be 
detailed, added to, and amplified in the bar-room and 
upon the street corners, — and thus was assembled a 
miniature world, an epitome of human society ; and at 
last came the judge, calm, self-possessed, and took his 
seat on the bench, to listen to the thousand and one 
complaints, and to administer to each equal and even- 
handed justice. His was an exalted position, the 
highest to which man can attain. In his hands he 
held the rights and the liberties of the people : the 
responsibility was oppressive, for a mistake or an er- 
ror in judgment was fraught with far-reaching conse- 
quences, — it was almost a crime. The polar star of 
his position, the very foundation upon which he stood, 
was incorruptible honesty and integrity ; with these 
he was the master of every complication ; with these 
he touched the tangled web, and as if by magic the 
right was made to appear ; with these he was strong 
and self-possessed, and his satisfied conscience covered 
him as with a shield ; but losing these, he becomes the 
wicked tool of wicked men, a waif upon a world of 
troubled waters without an anchor, a curse to mankind. 

Upon the morning of the convening of court Judge 
Kent and Richard had a final consultation in which it 


IN COURT. 


381 

was concluded to move for a continuance for sixty 
days on account of the absence of the Doctor’s daugh- 
ter, whom they desired as a witness. This motion 
was bitterly resisted by Popper, on the ground of its 
unconstitutionality, because that sacred instrument 
which he loved guaranteed a speedy trial. The mo- 
tion was granted, the court remarking that the cause 
of continuance came within the letter of the law, and 
that the objections of the plaintiff could not be sus- 
tained. 

The period of delay, to the Doctor, was one of con- 
stant and increasing alarm. At the convening of 
court Clare had been absent fully as long as she in- 
tended, and quite a sufficient length of time to accom- 
plish her journey and return. Every day now only 
increased his anxiety. What could thus detain his 
darling child ? Four weeks before the sixty days had 
elapsed he received Clare’s dispatch, and consequently 
there was no cause for further delay, and undoubtedly 
the trial would come on at the time specified. 

At length the day of trial arrived, and the court- 
house was again filled to its utmost capacity. A jury 
was soon empanelled and sworn, and Popper stepped 
forward to make the opening statement of the plain- 
tiff’s case. He was not, as we have seen, prepossess- 
ing in appearance. Since our first introduction to 
him, the worry and trouble consequent upon the 
management of the conspiracy had caused him to in- 
crease his daily potations, and as a result his face had 
grown a little more bloated and still redder ; the ample 
folds of his thick neck had expanded in depth and 
breadth, while their color had increased its brightness ; 
his size had largely expanded horizontally, causing a 
seeming depression in the perpendicular, while his 


382 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


hair, always thin and bordering on the light red, had 
grown still thinner, and the color a shade nearer no 
color at all ; his eyes, always small and deep set, had 
grown a little smaller, and were nearly lost to view 
by the ever-increasing fatness that surrounded them ; 
but the channel for tears was still kept open, and they 
appeared to boil up and flow as from a deep and 
craggy chasm, and the supply seemed inexhaustible. 
His swallow-tailed coat that had seen service in the 
earlier and better days of its owner, now soiled and 
worn, relic of a former age and of a fashion that only 
lived in memory, reached nearly to the ground behind, 
but in front (the garment not being affected by the 
process of horizontal expansion and perpendicular de- 
pression aforesaid) there seemed to be acres of space 
it did not cover ; and to see the shining brass buttons 
on one side and the button-holes on the other, strangers 
now and far apart, ho one would have dreamed that 
they belonged to the same family and were designed for 
use together. His wide standing collar shot up from 
his shoulders to nearly the top of his head, one side 
of which, by reason of the profuse perspiration con- 
sequent upon his vigorous blows upon the table when- 
ever he referred to Judge Kent or the Doctor, fell 
down and lay there limp and prostrate, dripping with 
the very essence and moisture of oratory ; while on 
the other side, the moisture aforesaid finding other 
channels and forming other rivulets, the collar main- 
tained its erect position amidst the storm and tempest 
that raged around it. 

Thus arrayed and accoutered Popper stood before 
the jury. His presence seemed to be an inspiration, 
for as he stood there a wave of merriment rolled over 
the audience, which Popper construed as an expression 


IN COURT. 


383 


of approval of himself and sympathy with his cause, 
and he looked the embodiment of satisfaction and 
pride. After the manner of his tribe of lawyers, he 
commenced his address by fulsome praise of the jury, 
not one of whom he knew or had ever seen before. 
But assuming to be the intimate friend and bosom 
companion of each one of them, he came, he said, to 
lay upon their hearts and consciences the cause of his 
abused client, and he thanked his Creator for ena- 
bling him to bring this case before this particular jury, 
whose equal for honesty and integrity had never been 
seen in the court room since old Massachusetts, the 
mother of States and Statesmen, and lawyers too he 
might say without egotism, had been a member of the 
great American Union, whose corner-stone rested 
upon the right of trial by jury, — the right of the poor 
and oppressed, like his client, to come before twelve 
men of noble hearts and lives, like the gentlemen he 
saw before him, to vindicate his sacred rights, that 
had been ruthlessly trampled on and ground to 
powder by the rich and powerful, like the defendant, 
whose claims are supported by counsel assuming to be 
great lawyers, like those with whom he now had to 
contend. He congratulated himself, his client, and 
his country, that this great case was to be submitted 
to this particular jury, in whose countenances he saw 
the evidences of that honesty and uprightness, which 
neither the blandishments of those in high places or 
the ill-gotten gains of others, their tools, could cor- 
rupt or swerve from doing their duty to the humble 
poor. He came as the champion of the poor, the friend 
of the unfortunate, without fee or reward, or the hope 
thereof, to place in the generous hands of these twelve 
American citizens the sacred rights of his bleeding, 
oppressed, and down-trodden client. 


/ 


384 CLARE LINCOLN. 

While this oration was being delivered, Sharp, the 
partner played his part by looking smilingly at the 
jury, and then at the orator with the utmost satisfac- 
tion. At the conclusion of the address, which closed 
in tears, Sharp approached his partner, and whispering, 
said with indignation, “ Why did you not say some- 
thing abovit the case ? ” To which the great Popper 
with spirit replied, “You never could appreciate ora- 
tory, and I pity you, but I have taken the audience 
and jury by storm. I see Old Kent winced while I 
paid my respects to him.” 

“ Kent,” answered Sharp, “ can stand a thousand 
such speeches, but another one like it would kill our 
case. The bar and the audience made sport of you 
from the beginning to the end. You are not in the 
police court, Mr. Popper. Kent seems to be in the 
best of spirits. The bombshell has exploded and he 
does not seem to be wounded.” 

In the mean time. Judge Kent informed the court 
and jury that the defendant would not at that time 
make a statement of his case, but said he would be 
glad to know with whom the defendant had to con- 
tend, as Mr. Steadman, the plaintiff, had not honored 
the court with his presence. Whereupon Popper 
sprang to his feet and said, “ You will probably be 
accommodated with as much of Mr. Steadman as you 
wish before the case is over. We hope our case will 
not be prejudiced by the temporary illness of the 
plaintiff.” 

“ His illness is easily accounted for,” retorted the 
Judge, “ judging from the physicians he employs.” 

The day being far spent the court adjourned until 
morning, when at an early hour the court-house was 
again filled. The plaintiff’s attorneys were early in 


IN COURT, 


385 


their seats, and now had with them their client, upon 
whom the people gazed with curiosity and surprise. 
He remained the wreck we have seen him. His step 
was tottering and unsteady ; his hands trembled ; his 
countenance betrayed the foot-prints of the destroyer. 
He sat beside his counsel, but seemed totally indif- 
ferent to all that was going on about him. And this 
was the plaintiff. Not quite a myth, nor yet a man, 
but rather a human ruin, a skeleton of blasted hopes, 
the tortured shadow of something far away. 

The Doctor looked worn and weary. Though his 
fortune hung trembling in the balance, his anxiety 
was not for that, but for Clare, whose unaccountable 
absence filled him with terror. 

Again the case was called, and the witnesses for the 
plaintiff came forth. They were a motley crowd, — 
some in rags, and some in gay, dashing colors, — but 
their faces were nearly all of the same character, show- 
ing similarity of life and habit, blear-eyed, blotched, 
pimpled, and powdered, — the inevitable signs and 
brands of their calling and occupation, and when they 
raised their hands to Heaven and were sworn, no 
wonder a shiver of dismay and disgust flashed through 
the audience. Such witnesses for such a plaintiff ! 

The court ordered the case to proceed, and then 
came Marcus Bright, who went through his lesson 
faithfully, saving a little confusion upon the agency 
question. The plaintiff next made the necessary 
proof to entitle the will, under which he claimed, 
to be introduced in evidence. No test that could 
be applied to it detected the forgery, and it was 
read to the jury, and thereafter placed in the cus- 
tody of the clerk for safe keeping. 

The next witness on the part of the plaintiff was 

25 


386 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


looked for with impatient curiosity. At the call of 
Sharp, Victoria Dome came forw’ard and repeated 
her lesson perfectly without a miss or variation. On 
cross-examination she inforaied Judge Kent that her 
business was none of his business. True enough, he 
replied, but on what street did she carry on this busi- 
ness ? Must she answer so impudent a question ? 

Certainly, so said the court. Then she lived on 

Alley, and was a lady. Lived without labor and 
kept other ladies to help her do the same business ? 
Yes. Kept a place of resort and had frequent visitors ? 
Yes, those came who felt so inclined and were always 
well treated. The attorneys for the plaintiff were 
her friends ? No. Had no acquaintance with them. 
They had not informed her what to swear to as a 
witness in this case ? Never. The insinuation was 
ungentlemanly. Did she leave her business on the 
alley when she went to live with Parbery ? She pre- 
sumed she did. And Parbery had quarreled with his 
daughters ? Yes. And in the presence of witness ? 
Yes. And the daughters left home? Yes. How 
long ago did she live there? Just twenty years ago. 
And how many daughters did Mr. Parbery then have? 
Two. Where was their mother ? Living with her 
husband. And did she quarrel with her husband ? 
She said the will wronged the children. Did she not 
know that the mother had been dead for thirty years, 
and that she died when the third and youngest 
daughter was an infant ? On the contrary, she knew 
the mother was living twenty years ago, and that 
she quarreled with her husband concerning the will. 
And how old pray was Miss Dome, the keeper of the 
house, on Alley ? Old enough to know her busi- 

ness and to tell the truth. 


IN COURT. 


387 

Victoria left the stand, and then followed Jackson 
Jones, Daniel Smith, Betsy Hamilton, who also lived 
on Alley, next door to Miss Dome ; Jane Ran- 

dall, of the same alley ; James Johnson, a frequenter of 
the alley; Michael Wren, a confidence man; Polly 
Darrow, a marriage broker ; and Simpson Green, a 
lottery agent, who all repeated their lessons with 
great exactness and remarkable similarity, corrobo- 
rating Miss Dome in every particular. 

And now Steadman was placed on the stand, and 
all eyes were fastened upon the claimant. His attor- 
neys were nervous. They knew not how the excite- 
ment of being in court would affect his mind. If he 
should chance to see the Parbery daughters would 
not the sight quicken his mind, and recall old and 
pleasant memories ? They were troubled, but their 
client must give his evidence. Sharp had drilled 
him for months, and now the hour had arrived for 
him to testify. He appeared indifferent and ab- 
stracted as if brooding over some life long-trouble, 
and the people looked upon him with pity and sor- 
row, that poor humanity' could become such a wreck. 

In answer to Sharp’s question he gave his name and 
age, and that he had lived with Parbery for fifteen 
years. “ It seems so long ago that I left that happy 
home.” He paused and looked as if at something 
far away. “Please proceed, Mr. Steadman, with 
your answer,” said Sharp. Steadman heeded not 
the request of his attorney, and continued to gaze as 
if looking backward through the dreary years to that 
happy home of his youth. “ Did you not hear me, 
Mr. Steadman ? Please go on with your evidence,” 
said Sharp, with illy concealed anxiety.^ No response. 
Had something aroused his mind from its sleep. Per- 


388 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


haps some trifling thing had recalled his early life 
and the happy scenes thereof. The silence became 
painful, and he was deaf to Sharp’s requests to pro- 
ceed. “ Let him alone,” whispered Popper. “ Let 
the jury feast their eyes on the poor fool. It will 
arouse their sympathies.” Then Sharp said to the 
witness: “You may go, Mr. Steadman. We will 
call you again when you are feeling better.” But 
the client did not seem to hear him. At length he 
aroused himself, and, with a sigh, said : “ Alas ! those 
were happy years. Oh, how beautiful they seem to 
me now.” 

“ Speak, if you now feel able to, of what you know 
of Mr. Parbery’s will,” said Sharp. 

“ Fool,” whispered Popper. “ Let him alone. Let 
him go. We can do just as well without him.” 

Steadman had forgotten his lesson. The new train 
of thought awakened by the unknown something had 
called his mind backward, and now hearing Sharp 
speak of Parbery’s will, he at once thought of the old 
will and his lost legacy, and said: “Curse the will! 
Curse the legacy ! They have ruined me ! Curse 
the law I There is no justice this side of heaven I ” 

“ Hush,” said Sharp. “ I am now speaking of the 
new will.” 

“The new will! ” responded Steadman. “There 
is no new will ! They supposed there was, but could 
find none.” 

“Do you not remember the will found by your 
friend Bright ? ” inquired Sharp. 

“ My friend Bright ? I have no such friend. I 
have no friends. They are all gone, and I shall soon 
go. Yes, yes! I remember now. They tell me 
there is a new will, and that I have a fortune. So 
they told me before, but I lost that and will this.” 


IN COURT. 


389 

“ Tell the court and jury,” excitedly demanded 
Sharp, “ of the search for your mother’s picture.” 

“ My mother’s picture ! My mother’s picture ! ” 
There was a long silence, and poor Steadman was in 
tears. At last he said : “ Yes, they told me I had 
lost my mother’s picture, and that I could find it 
again by searching in the old chest in the garret. 
Poor, dear mother! I never had her picture.” 

What mysterious agency had turned backward the 
tide of years and brought Steadman to the arms of 
his mother, a loving boy with a future full of hope ? 
What had quickened his memory into activity and 
caused it to span the gulf of misery that separated 
his youth from his manhood ? His attorneys were 
alarmed. Steadman, the machine, weeping at the 
remembrance of his mother I It was indeed a mira- 
cle. Some unknown power from the shadowy land 
seemed to hold him spell-bound in its kind embrace. 
Steadman was at last sober, and he looked upon him- 
self in wonder. His years of debauchery were like 
a dismal dream of terrors only the outlines of which 
could be called from the dark oblivion. It was like 
being born again, and he intuitively took up his life 
where he left it when overtaken by the night of 
drunkenness. His masters had unconsciously rolled 
the stone from the tomb, and Miles Steadman was 
resurrected from the dead. 

Sharp then offered in evidence the old will, the can- 
cellation of which promised a new one, and the de- 
fendant’s attorneys desiring the same in evidence for 
their own purposes made no objection, and the same 
was received and read to the jury, and here the plain- 
tiff rested his case, and the court adjourned for the 
day. 


390 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


The following morning the case opened for the de- 
fense. The forged will stood like an iron mountain 
to sustain the claims of the plaintiff. It had not yet 
been shaken, and it seemed perfectly conclusive. 
Judge Kent and Richard were in good spirits, yet 
they realized that they had a giant task before them. 
The Doctor had lost all interest in attempting to save 
his fortune in his anxiety for Clare. Why did she 
not return ? Why did he not hear from her ? His 
alarm almost bewildered him. 

Steadman came into court and seated himself apart 
from his counsel, and again was the combat renewed. 
The defendant first called Uncle George, and as this 
philosophic financier came in Richard recognized in 
him the “ Year of Jubilee ” slave that he had met 
in Virginia while stopping with Mr. Stanley in the 
early days of the war. He testified that during the 
absence of the Doctor in Europe, on a certain night, 
giving the date, while in charge of the premises, 
he was aroused from his slumbers by the sound of 
voices which appeared to come from between the ser- 
vants’ hall and the mansion. He listened again, and 
heard the voices more distinctly. They seemed to be 
now directly opposite his window. Then he heard 
these words : “ I want to look through the house to- 
night. I want to see your old quarters, I have a cu- 
riosity to look into the old chest in the garret'' These 
words, he said, were uttered by Mr. Stacy ; and he 
knew because he had often heard him speak when 
making visits at the Doctor’s home, and he recognized 
his voice. 

Question. “ You may state, if you can, who was the 
companion of Stacy on this occasion.” 

Answer. “ I cannot say ; I did not know the 
voice.” 


IN COURT. 


391 


Steadman still apart from his counsel, but ear- 
nestly watching the proceedings, arose to his feet and 
calmly said, “ J am the man.’’^ These solemn words 
echoed clear and distinctly through the house, thrill- 
ing the vast audience as if a ghost had stalked un- 
bidden into the room. The attorneys for the plain- 
tiff were appalled. The stupid, sleeping Steadman 
was awakening to life again. What if some shadowy 
remembrance, some fading outline of his doings for 
the past two years, yet lingered in his mind ? What 
if this obscure picture of crime should flash and ripen 
into the reality and the truth appear ? The reflec- 
tion was not pleasing. 

The next witness called was Cicero, who came ar- 
rayed in his red neck-tie and shining ring, tokens of 
Stacy’s affection. He related how he and that gentle- 
man became devoted friends, at Stacy’s earnest solici- 
tation, and to fasten the witness’ affections upon 
him had bestowed these gifts. He then said that on 
a certain night, during the Doctor’s absence, he and 
Stacy met in front of the Doctor’s house, when Stacy 
suggested that a view of the moonlight from the ob- 
servatory to the tower would be beautiful indeed, and 
wishing to please his friend who had been so kind to 
him, he entered the servants’ hall and procured the 
key to the house from the pocket of Uncle George, 
who was sleeping, and with Stacy entered the house, 
and passed through the rooms to the stair-case, up the 
staircase to the landing at the garret, and thence to 
the observatory, where Stacy viewed the moon, while 
the witness, at Stacy’s suggestion, returned to the ser- 
vants’ hall to see if any of the inmates thereof had 
been disturbed. 

Question, “ State, if you know, whether Stacy ob- 


392 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


served, as lie passed up the staircase, the door into 
the garret from the landing.” 

Answer, “ I do not know.” 

Question. “ You say you went below at the request 
of Stacy, and during your absence he was left alone 
on the observatory. Now state, if you know, whether 
he entered the garret while you were watching below.” 

Answer. “ I do not know. He might. He had 
the opportunity.” 

Question. “ And by his own procurement ? ” 

Answer. “ Yes ; but when I returned, after per- 
haps ten minutes’ absence, Stacy was still looking at 
the moon as if he were an astronomer.” 

Cicero then mentioned the several attempts Stacy 
had made to induce him to leave the employment of 
the Doctor, and his offer of increased wages. 

He was then handed over to Popper for cross-ex- 
amination, who made a bad matter worse by his ques- 
tions and the answers received. 

The next witness called was Marcus Bright, who 
being under no contract with the defendant to falsify, 
determined to tell the whole truth. He related how 
he became acquainted with Stacy, and that the friend- 
ship thus begun soon ripened into mutual admiration, 
but why he was selected by the young lawyer as his 
companion had always been, and was still, a mystery 
to him. He then said that, at the request of Stacy, 
he had searched in the old chest for the picture of 
Steadman’s mother, and while thus engaged had found 
the will, and also, at his suggestion, had delivered the 
same to Popper and Sharp. 

Question. “ Who first informed you that there was 
an old chest in the garret containing Parbery pa- 
pers ? ” 


IN COURT. 


393 


Answer. “ Mr. Stacy.” 

Question. “ Did you find the will before or after 
Stacy had procured an entrance into the house, and 
thereby access to the garret?” 

Answer. “ According to the date given by Cicero, 
it was several weeks after that.” 

Question. ‘‘ Did Steadman ever request you to 
search for his mother’s picture, and if so, when and 
where was it that he made such request? ” 

Answer. “ He never made any request to me of 
any kind. I never saw him except here in court. 
The reason why I said before that Steadman asked 
me to search for the picture was, that Stacy had in- 
structed me in the Law of Agency, as he called it ; and 
said what one did by another, he did himself, and he, 
being Steadman’s agent, what I did for him, I did for 
Steadman. I never did quite understand it. I 
thought it one of the mysteries of the law, and that 
it was all right, and besides he paid me money to 
learn these legal lessons.” 

Then came the three daughters of Parbery, highly 
respectable people, and one after the other testified 
calmly and clearly that more than a year before their 
father’s death Steadman had become drunken and 
dissipated, and in consequence thereof the old will had 
been canceled, but that they had invested the legacy 
it contained for Steadman, which they were anxious 
he should have the moment he would reform ; that 
Victoria Dome,. Polly Darrow, Jackson Green, and 
each and every one of the witnesses for the plaintiff 
who had testified to living in their father’s family, 
were entire strangers to them, and that their story of 
the quarrel was utterly and totally false from begin- 
ning to end ; that they had never received anything 


394 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


from their parent’s estate or property until after his 
death ; that their mother had died more than thirty 
years ago, when the youngest daughter was an infant ; 
that never an unkind word passed between them and 
their father ; and so untrue was it that they were dis- 
satisfied with the legacy to Steadman in the old will, 
that they now and at all times had been anxious he 
should receive the full amount thereof, though the 
will had been canceled ; and hoping that he might yet 
reform they had invested the ten thousand mentioned 
in the will, and he should have it and the interest 
when he divorced himself from his evil companions 
and became himself again. 

The eldest daughter also testified that immediately 
after the death of her father she had searched in the 
old chest in the garret for a will, supposing he had 
made one from the promise contained in the revoca- 
tion of the old one, and at that time no will could be 
found there. While delivering her testimony Stead- 
man, unobserved, had worked ,his way as near to her 
as possible, and there remailed listening eagerly to 
every word, and when she spoke of her anxiety to 
have him reform and receive his legacy tears came to 
his eyes and he wept. How much he had lost ; how 
many years he had wasted ; how desolate and dreary 
had his shameful life become, because he, in the agony 
of his great disappointment, had madly turned away 
and scorned the love of his dearest friends. Besotted 
and debauched, yet one kind word spoken at the right 
time and place had fanned into a flame the spark of 
the godlike that ever remains in every human soul, 
however lost and fallen it may become. 

How much he had lost. Youth had departed ; the 
years when love plants its treasures of life, and pre- 


IN COURT. 


395 


pares for the harvest of the ripened years ; manhood, 
the time when men think and grow, when they labor 
and endure, when they develop their powers and 
their gifts, when they hope and trust, when they are 
sorrowful and when they rejoice, — all, all had been 
swallowed up, and lost in the night of ruin, and there 
he stood, past the middle age, trembling and broken, 
gray-haired before his time, a skeleton of his former 
self. 

How much had he lost. A home and all its treas- 
ures ; a wife and little children, picture and represen- 
tation of the heavenly home, vestibule to our Father’s 
many mansions ; the ties of friendship, sympathy, and 
affection ; the thirst for knowledge and improvement, 
— all had been sacrified to the demon that darkened 
his life. 

The daughter concluded her testimony, and was 
about leaving the stand, when Steadman stepped to- 
wards her, and feelingly said : “ My long lost sister, 
can you forgive me ? Can you forget my years of 
wickedness, and let love you again ? Long time 
have I wandered, long have I hated. It was a dis- 
mal night, but now the day has dawned, and with it 
love, faith, and hope. Do not turn me away, but let 
me love you as in the elder days when we were chil- 
dren together.” 

Thus did the lost wanderer return to his home, and 
thus did a noble Christian woman lead this sinner 
back from his sins to repentance and forgiveness. 

Then came John Lutterworth and testified that 
more than one year before he saw Sharp and Stacy 
searching for Steadman. It was late at night, and 
they found him in witness’ saloon. They promised to 
procure Steadman’s legacy, and after much persuad- 


396 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


ing lie went with them, and witness had not seen him 
since, though before that he had been in his saloon 
every day for years. 

Here Judge Kent said that the witness absent in 
Europe had not yet returned, and having no further 
testimony the defendant rested his case. 

Stacy was then called to rebut the defendant’s evi- 
dence. A great burden rested on his shoulders. He 
must by his testimony overthrow and brush away the 
web of suspicions that the defendant had woven 
around him and his associates. This he attempted to 
do. The defendant had not attacked the signature 
to the will. The plaintiff’s testimony on this point 
stood strong and firm, a rock in mid ocean, unmoved 
by the tempest and the storm, and on this bulwark 
Stacy proposed to stand and testify. He would by 
his breath calm the troubled waters, and destroy the 
whole fabric of the defense by his unsupported de- 
nials, and this huge task he attempted. 

Here the case closed. It had been a hard fought 
battle. The attorneys for the plaintiff were confident. 
The signature to the will yet stood like a towering 
mountain, and the testimony of the defendant was but 
chaff and wind. What was it ? Mere suspicions. And 
from whence did they come? From two negroes and 
two white men, and three of them servants in the 
employment of the defendant. But the attorneys of 
the Doctor were equally confident. The chain of cir- 
cumstances bound Popper, Sharp, and Stacy in irons 
from whence there was no possible escape. And thus 
the combatants retired for the night to renew the 
struggle in the morning. 

The night passed quickly, and the morning came 
bringing with it a throng of people to witness the 


IN COURT. 


397 


closing scenes of the great trial. The Doctor was 
dejected. In this supreme hour that was to decide 
his fortune he thought only of Clare. The news of 
a steamboat disaster in mid ocean had reached him. 
He was almost worn out with consuming anxiety for 
his darling. 

Popper opened the case to the jury, and was fol- 
lowed by Richard for the defendant. During Pop- 
per’s speech, the Doctor, not wishing to listen to it, 
and burdened with an agony he could scarcely endure, 
rode with Uncle George to the harbor. Before reach- 
ing there they saw a steamer near at hand. On the 
good ship came, nearer and nearer still, and soon it 
reached its journey’s end. And now the passengers 
came thronging out, and the Doctor mingled with the 
crowd, anxiously looking for Clare, but found her 
not. He was about stepping on board the boat to 
satisfy himself beyond a doubt, when he saw two 
ladies approaching, and in a moment one of them, 
with a wild exclamation of joy, left the other and 
came running towards him, and before he could 
hardly comprehend the situation, Clare, with her 
arms around his neck, was covering his face with 
kisses. For the moment they forgot every care and 
every thought of trouble in the hallowed conscious- 
ness that they were again together. 

They hastened on toward the carriage joyfully. 
Often and often did the Doctor exclaim, in the full- 
ness of his heart, “ My child ! My child ! God is 
good ! He saved my Clare ! ” 

“I feared,” said Clare, “that my delay would 
cause you much anxiety, but thought my second tel- 
egram would inform you of the cause.” 

“ Your second dispatch ? ” inquired the Doctor, in 


398 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


astonishment. “ I received but one, my child, and 
that said, ‘ No will found.’ And the suit, having 
been postponed for sixty days, had to proceed.” 

“ How strange ! ” responded Clare, “ and how much 
this accident must have caused you to suffer. And 
what now is the condition of the lawsuit ? I pray 
that I am not too late.” 

“ Dear child,” exclaimed the Doctor, you are with 
me and I am happy. Let them take the property. 
When, day after day, and week after week, you did 
not come, and I began to believe you had been lost, 
then I hoped my own life would go too, and end my 
troubles ; but now you are with me, and the world is 
beautiful again.” 

“ Be comforted, my best friend,” said Clare. 
“You shall suffer no more. Has the lawsuit been 
tried ? Did they establish the will ? ” 

“They are now closing the case,” he said. “They 
established the will. But there are many dark cir- 
cumstances surrounding the case. You know most 
of them. But Steadman is a mystery. You must 
see him.” 

“ Let us hasten to the court room,” said Clare. 
“ When I am more calm and a little rested, I have 
something to tell you. Let us hasten to Judge 
Kent.” 

In a few moments they arrived at the court room 
and entered it. As they entered Richard was in the 
midst of his argument. As they stepped into the 
room the eyes of Clare and Richard met, and they 
instantly recognized each other. And so the master 
and pupil met after long years of separation. At the 
first glance, Clare turned pale, hesitated, and fal- 
tered in her step, was confused and bewildered. Re- 


IN COURT. 


399 

covering herself, she thought: “This must not be; 
my work is not yet finished ; I must still be strong | 
before this suit is ended I shall have other trials to 
endure ; my heart shall not betray its love.” 

She was excited as never before. Her whole life 
flashed before her, and some of the mysteries were 
being revealed. “ But what is Clare Lincoln to Rich- 
ard Pembroke now ? ” This was the ghost that came 
to trouble her in this supremely happy hour. When 
seated, she whispered to the Doctor and said, “ Can I 
be mistaken ? Is not the speaker Richard Pem- 
broke ? ” 

“ Yes, dear child ; and he has made himself famous 
by his conduct of this case. Pardon me for not be- 
fore informing you ; but I had so much to think of. 
It is your old school-master, and the bar and all the 
people are loud in their praises of him.” 

“ And I, too, glory in his success,” said Clare. 

Poor Richard ! The sight of Clare as she entered 
the room almost paralyzed him. He faltered in his 
speech, and hesitated ; the words would not come ; 
he forgot what he was saying, and labored as if suf- 
fering severest pain. He looked again, and saw 
Clare seated beside the Doctor. The look inspired 
him. And there was Kate Stanley by her side. 
What inexplicable mystery was here? He could 
not fathom or solve it. He did not dream that the 
Doctor’s “ child ” was Clare, or that it was her for 
whom they had so anxiously looked to arrive from 
Europe ; and yet it must be, for how supremely 
happy the Doctor looked as he sat there by her side. 
He could not explain the situation. One thought 
alone possessed him. Clare, his idol, was in court, 
and heard his words, and now of all other times he 


400 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


must not fail. He recovered himself. His words 
came again. He spoke as if inspired. He closed 
in triumph, and waiting not a moment, hastened to 
Clare. It was indeed a happy meeting. 

While Richard was yet speaking, the Doctor, Judge 
Kent, and Clare had an interview for a few moments, 
in which the Doctor and the Judge became greatly 
excited and astonished, and they, with Clare, with- 
drew to an anteroom where Clare concluded what 
she had been saying to them. In half an hour they 
returned to hear Richard conclude his address. Not 
for years had the Doctor looked so young or felt so 
happy. 

As Richard concluded. Judge Kent arose and said: 
“ May it please the court, I arise to ask a privilege 
which, though unusual, is not without precedents in 
its favor. The witness we had expected from Eu- 
rope has arrived and is now in court.” As he heard 
these words, Stacy looked up and saw Richard seated 
beside Clare. And the Judge continued: “ We desire 
the testimony of this girl to be given to the jury. 
Her evidence is of the most startling and remarkable 
character. No heroine of ancient or modern times, 
no queen of legend, song, or story, has surpassed the 
noble deeds of this noble girl whom we ask may tes- 
tify here to-day. She appears at the opportune mo- 
ment, the spirit and impersonation of truth, that 
justice may be done.” 

The court granted the motion, and Clare was 
seated on the witness stand. 


CLARE IN COURT. 


401 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

CLARE IN COURT. 

Silence reigned in the court room as Clare ap- 
proached the stand, and with uplifted hand received 
the oath as a witness. She had never been in court 
before. To her it was a majestic presence, where 
justice was enthroned, and to add to her other em- 
barrassments there sat before her Richard whom she 
loved, and Stacy who basely attempted to deceive 
her. But with dignity and calmness, in a clear, sweet 
voice she commenced her statement, by making known 
how she came to be living with the Doctor, and then 
followed a history of her life there, up to the time she 
accidentally met Stacy and his companion in the cem- 
etery. With a few well-chosen words she spoke of 
the impression that had seized her concerning a new 
will of Mr. Parbery, whose commanding voice had 
sent her over the sea. She then recounted the inci- 
dents of her journey, and the search for Harkness 
among the Channel Islands, the discouragements at- 
tending her efforts, and her final search for the will 
in the old Harkness house. She then continued: “As 
I was reluctantly leaving the old farm-house for the 
last time, sick at heart and discouraged, I observed an 
old out-building in the rear of the one in which I had 
spent so many days, used in the olden time when Mr. 
Harkness occupied the place as a farm workshop. 
As a matter of form, and to leave nothing behind upon 
26 


402 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


which a lingering doubt could rest, I obtained per- 
mission from Mr. Grundy to search in this ancient 
building. I entered upon this new ground with eager- 
ness, and first visited the chamber, but finding no 
relic of anything that ever belonged to Mr. Parbery, 
was about to descend the stair-way when I observed 
a box in an out of the way, unused place, difficult of 
access over the stairs. It was a dark corner and not 
easily noticed. Returning to the chamber floor, I 
walked around over the stairs and came to the box. 
The place seemed to be the palace of the spiders, for 
their webs, undisturbed for years, decorated it from 
side to side, and at my approach the monarch of the 
race darted into his castle for security, while the dust, 
unused to any invasion of its ancient empire, arose as 
if to make war on the intruder. Reaching the box I 
found it contained papers, and calling to Mr. Hark- 
ness he removed it to the light by the window, ob- 
serving as he did so that it was the very box that used 
to be in Mr. Parbery ’s room. Overjoyed at hearing 
these words I quickly examined the contents of the 
box, and found it contained papers addressed to Archi- 
bald Parbery. Trembling and agitated as never be- 
fore, I continued the examination, and soon came to a 
package of letters addressed to Mr. Parbery, and un- 
derneath these discovered a large sealed envelope, and 
taking it quickly in my hand, saw written thereon in 
a large, bold hand these words, ‘ The Last Will 
AND Testament of Archibald Parbery, June 
10, 1851 ; ’ and when the envelope came to be opened 
it was found to contain the last will of Mr. Parbery, 
subsequent in date to the one under which Miles Stead- 
man claims, in which, as the will itself will show, all 
the property of the testator is bequeathed to his three 
daughters. 


CLARE IN COURT. 


403 


“ My joy at making this discovery was beyond ex- 
pression. But in my delirium of happiness I did not 
forget to send a dispatch to the Doctor announcing 
the successful termination of the search, which by some 
cruel accident he failed to receive. I soon learned to 
my regret that the will must be opened in one of the 
law offices and admitted to probate there. The will 
was attested by J ohn and Mary Harkness, and on their 
testimony it was admitted to probate. This, and pro- 
curing a transcript of the record and the will, caused 
a delay of ten days. Besides the transcript of the 
record, I also obtained leave to bring with me the 
original will in precisely the condition in which I 
found it. I then hastily made preparations for leav- 
ing the island. Returning to my friends at Wey- 
mouth, I found myself worn out and threatened with 
severe illness which prostrated me for two weeks, and 
so long was the delay that my friend from London 
came there to meet me. Nearly four weeks had now 
elapsed since the will was found, and impatient to 
reach home in time, we commenced the journey and 
arrived here this morning. I have here the original 
will and the envelope in which it was found, also a 
certified transcript of the record where the same was 
duly proved and admitted to probate, and now pre- 
sent them to the court.” 

Judge Kent had no further questions. Popper 
declined to cross-examine, and Clare left the stand 
and resumed her seat by the Doctor’s side, and with 
her went the love and admiration of all the people. 
The new will being received in evidence and read 
to the jury, a verdict was immediately returned for 
the defendant, and judgment entered thereon. Then 
the audience shouted a wild prolonged cheer for the 


404 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Doctor, and his brave daughter, “ The Heroine of the 
Lost Will,” and amidst the confusion, the jury was 
discharged, court adjourned, and Popper, Sharp, and 
Stacy stealthily left the room. 

The action closed with the day, and the foe fled out 
into the darkness, panic-stricken and dismayed, over- 
whelmed with shame and defeat, suffering the stings 
and the pangs of blasted hopes, and fortunes lost for- 
ever, and in their hasty flight they threw away all 
their weapons and supplies, crazed and stupefied with 
a fear that mastered them. Their rock in mid ocean 
had tottered and fallen before the blows of a weak 
girl, and with it their hopes were submerged in ruin. 

They abandoned everything. They left the forged 
will behind ; they surrendered Steadman to the enemy 
— Steadman sobered now, and his soul, stirred to its 
depths by the kind words of the Parbery daughters, 
his memory growing stronger, and his mind brighter 
every day, and what might he not remember and re- 
veal when fully restored ? Palsied and confused with 
fear, trembling at every sound they heard, startled at 
the noise of their own footsteps, and seeing danger 
lurking in the very air, they knew not what to do. 
Driven hither and thither by a terror they could not 
control or master, yet chained as if by fate to the 
fatal vicinity of their crime ; unable to break away 
from the chain that bound them, infirm of purpose, 
powerless to think or act, they revolved about the 
spot where the forgery had been committed, as if held 
there by the fiat of fate. 

Retribution had come, sure, quick, and terrible. 
Naught could have long delayed its unfaltering, inex- 
orable approach. Compensation is the law of Nature 
and the law of God. Every evil act and every evil 


CLARE IN COURT, 405 

thought, sooner or later, meets its exact deserts. If 
not here, then hereafter. Eternity is justice. It 
makes all things even. Thrive in iniquity ? Prosper 
in depravity ? Gather wealth from crime, and be 
happy? Impossible! Such thrift has the viper’s 
sting, and such prosperity is a mockery. 

And now “ Evergreen Home ” invites us, and we 
enter it, as if stepping into a new world. Clare is its 
enthroned deity. Revered, beloved, the idol of the 
home she had saved, her praises on the lips of all the 
wise and the good, her triumph was complete. But 
modesty crowned her with its jewels, and ever to her- 
self she was but unpretending Clare Lincoln. 

Her connection with the lawsuit had revealed to her 
another treasure that the people knew not of, — one, 
indeed, that she scarcely dared to confess in secret 
to herself, — another treasure more precious than all 
others, locked in the very sanctuary of her heart of 
hearts, the inspiration of her life, the companion of 
her thoughts and her dreams — her old school-teacher. 
This wise mentor was no longer an unnamed some- 
thing she could not and dare not define, but it was a 
living glorious reality, the light of her life, the foun- 
tain of her happiness, dispelling every doubt and 
every shadow, the inspiration of noble thoughts and 
deeds, her friend in every trouble, her counselor in 
every trial. 

She dare not own to herself how the sight of Rich- 
ard had thrilled and electrified her soul; she dare 
not confess to her own heart the priceless love she 
gave him. She thought with a shudder of the many 
changes the long years might have wrought since last 
they met, and them her mind journeyed backward to 
that eventful night so long ago, when they stood in 


406 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


the starlight, teacher and pupil, and bade each other 
farewell. Oh, the relentless years ! What hopes had 
they blasted and buried ? What secrets did they con- 
ceal ? How precious had grown the memory of that 
hallowed hour ; how priceless had become the parting 
gift she then received ; but alas ! where was the little 
tress of hair, and what had been its fate ? Perhaps 
it had been lost, perhaps entirely forgotten, and that 
the memory thereof had faded into forgetfulness, 
swallowed up in the oblivion of time, a butterfly of 
the morning hour, the youthful day, now forever de- 
parted. That little tress of hair ! The thought of it 
carried her backward to the time she gave it, in the 
sweet confidence and trust of childhood. Then she 
was but a little girl, thirsting and longing for knowl- 
edge, the enigma of life, — to her, a sealed book : 
then she was fresh from the shores of the boundless 
sea, its voices still sounding in her ears teaching her 
trusting soul the lessons of a sublime faith and con- 
fiding hope, the pride of her doating parents, the 
precious flower of their humble home. 

Behold the havoc of the remorseless years ! Her 
father and mother had journeyed home ; their earthly 
habitation of love and hope a desolation, fallen down 
and overgrown with weeds and brambles, their little 
child an orphan ; the lights had fled from Pembroke 
Place, all its inmates had departed, strangers occupied 
its charming shades, the school children had grown to 
men and women, and of their parents, some were in 
the church-yard, and some were feebly tottering on to 
this goal of their great deliverance, and yet the re- 
morseless years sped on and on. 

But the memory of the olden time remained, and 
the happy faces of the long ago thronged about her 


CLARE IN COURT. 


40T 

now, recalling the years that had fled, and rebuilding 
the structures that time had overthrown, now but 
shadows. 

Forth from this shadowy land came the old Rich- 
ard, her ideal of the years gone by, whom she had 
clothed with all the virtues, when she had supposed 
him lost to her forever ; then came the Richard as 
she saw him after the mystery of the names upon 
the rocks, her love, her idol, her life and strength and 
hope ; and then the ideal passed away, as the living 
man appeared, her heart triumphing over her intel- 
lect. But yesterday she had beheld the real man, 
and she could but confess to her soul that the reality 
surpassed the fondest dreams of her ideal. 

But why did she tremble so ? Why did her heart 
throb as never before, when she made this confession ? 
Why this feeling of unrest, this unsatisfied longing ? 
It was the unnamed doubt and the sickening fear 
that after all Richard would ever remain to her but 
the old teacher of her childhood. 

Upon one thought she loved to dwell — Richard 
had labored to save the Doctor’s home ; he had won a 
name and fame by his effort in this behalf, and she 
too had labored in the same cause, and this unity of 
purpose created a kind of companionship upon which 
she loved to reflect. Did he know they were co-work- 
ers ? Did he know they labored side by side, although 
separated by the Atlantic ? It was not probable, for 
yesterday he seemed lost in doubt and mystery when 
the Doctor said “ My child,” and the story of the will 
was repeated. 

The search for the will, the lawsuit, the names upon 
the rocks, all seemed like a dream to her. Only one 
thing was real. She had again looked upon the face 


408 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


of Richard. Her longer search had also been crowned 
with success, and now she recalled Avith a flushed 
cheek her confession to the Doctor in Berlin in the 
days of Palgrave, and she wondered if he also re- 
membered it ? Could she again meet her old teacher, 
and not betray by any word or look the secret of her 
heart ? Yes, she must. Every instinct and feeling 
of her nature said yes. Yea, if necessary, she must 
rejoice in his love for another. Could she do this and 
live ? She put away the precious ring she had worn 
so long, with a pang. This old and trusted friend 
must not betray her secret, and so it was put away 
with a sigh, a holy sacrifice upon the altar of her heart. 

The day had closed with triumph for Richard. 
Victory had crowned his efforts for his client. Con- 
gratulations showered in upon him, and yet he left 
the court room bewildered. The mystery of Clare 
he could not explain. Lost in the fathomless laby- 
rinths of his love, he had failed to hear her explana- 
tion of how she came to be living with the Doctor. 
He had searched for years for Clare Lincoln, and now 
she came to him as the “ child ” of Doctor Hume. Had 
she married his son ? The story of the lost will was 
indeed marvelous, but why his little pupil had periled 
her life to save the fortune of the Doctor was some- 
thing he could not understand. Where was her 
mother ? He had not heard her explanation to the 
jury. What mystery had the years fabricated since 
they parted ? What profound secret did they con- 
ceal to thus perplex him ? All was doubt and un- 
certainty. He only knew this: He had left her a 
little child, the fisherman’s daughter, and he found 
her the heroine of an achievement that sent her fame 
throughout all the land. And thus had ended his 


CLARE IN COURT. 


409 


weary search. Clare was found, and with her came 
Kate Stanley, another mystery he could not explain. 
What fate had brought them together ? He would 
not try to explain it. Enough for him to know that 
Clare lived and was safe. But though found, was 
she yet lost to him ? Here was the doubt that gave 
him no rest and no peace. He had lived and labored 
for his child love. For her he had battled for success ; 
for her he had studied and toiled, and she was in- 
woven with all his future. If lost to him though 
found to all others, then life had lost all its sweetness, 
and all his success was but a cruel failure. 

He returned to his room, but the hours dragged 
wearily. The events of the day had full possession 
of his being, and the still hours of the night found 
him pondering upon the mysteries he could not ex- 
plain, and agonized at the thought that after all these 
years of painful and anxious watching and waiting 
Clare might be forever lost to him though found for- 
ever. 

And now the lawsuit fades upon the sight and 
sinks into darkness, while “ Evergreen Home ” nest- 
les in the embraces of purity and peace, clothed with 
a new life, the dawn of a purer happiness. 


410 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

A MESSAGE FROM AFAR. 

John Flint returned to the city the day after the 
trial had ended, and knew not of its wonderful reve- 
lations. Hastening to Richard to learn what there 
was in the remarkable rumors he had heard, the two 
old friends met in the office of Judge Kent. Richard 
had planned a surprise for John. After relating to 
him the thrilling story of Clare, he said, “ A young 
lady accompanied her from Europe who is a friend of 
the Stanleys. She probably can make known to you 
Kate’s hiding place. She is now with Clare at ‘ Ever- 
green Home.’ ” 

“ Why on earth,” excitedly exclaimed John, “ do 
we remain here a single instant ? Let us fly to ‘ Ever- 
green Home.’ ” 

“I have but been waiting for your return,” an- 
swered Richard ; “ we will go at once.” 

Who can portray the rapture with which they en- 
tered upon that short journey ? To them it was 
heaven opening wide its portals, revealing glories in- 
conceivable, and bidding them enter. “Evergreen 
Home ! ” To one of them it was fairy land, the 
centre and circumference of the universe, and to the 
other, the land of promise, the gateway to a heaven 
of bliss. 

Now they approached this enchanted ground, and 
stood on the very threshold of their hopes. It was 


A MESSAGE FROM AFAR. 411 

twilight, and as they neared their destination there 
came floating upon the trembling air the sounds of 
sweetest music, like the harmony of angelic singers, 
praising the Father Almighty. They listened, and 
the stars came out in their beauty, as if attracted by 
the delightful sounds. 

Now the music died away, lost in the darkness, and 
they stood at the door of the mansion, trembling with 
the intoxication of their own happy thoughts. The 
door opened and they entered, and the chasm of the 
years closed. The master had found his pupil, and 
the afl5.anced soldier his bride. 

Cast now the horoscope upon the starlit sky, and 
behold its revelations. Let us hope that the fates 
smile propitiously on this long-deferred meeting of 
our friends. 

Thus does one throb of glorious life compensate for 
an age of misery. 

Clare presented John to Kate in the parlor, and 
returned to Richard in the library. Soon the Doc- 
tor and his sister left, and the teacher and pupil were 
alone and together. How could they break the silence 
of the long years ? How could they unburden their 
souls and be at rest ? The heart of each was sur- 
charged with a love it dare not express, yet could 
scarce conceal. It was as if a charmed land of purest 
delight, elysian fields of heavenly bliss, lay between 
them, to the borders of which each was attracted by 
an irresistible power, but into which neither could 
enter. A beautiful river flowed between them, its 
banks lined with celestial flowers ; its waters, the 
nectar of the gods, sparkling in the sunshine of purity, 
gliding onward to the great ocean of love that flowed 
around all their world, but neither could moisten their 


412 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


parched lips at this cooling stream. Their lot forbade. 
They were but strangers. Thirsting with an un- 
quenchable thirst ; hungering with an insatiate appe- 
tite ; their souls being consumed by a raging fire, yet 
they could not sip at the crystal fountain at their feet. 
After all, they were but strangers. After all their 
years of love for each other, they were each to the 
other almost unknown. For only a few days had they 
been together as children, but since then long years 
had intervened, and what mysteries did they con- 
ceal? Neither could give the faintest guess. Child- 
hood had flown away ; youth — expectant, fresh, and 
glorious — had come and gone, and manhood and wom- 
anhood had arisen on their way. What changes had 
time wrought ? Of what material had the warp and 
the woof of the other’s life been woven and fabri- 
cated ? They knew not. The oracles were dumb 
and made no responses. 

Far apart, though near together; closely united by 
an invisible bond of affection that made each to the 
other the central figure of life, yet unable to reveal 
their feelings by any word or sign ; tasting the joys 
of a holy love, yet compelled to painful silence ; dis- 
tressed by a doubt that made their lives miserable, 
but unable to relieve their anxiety ; their souls burn- 
ing with words they could not express, — it is not 
strange that their first moments alone were moments 
of silence and discomposure. The beautiful river 
flowed, on as ever, but speaking athwart its sparkling 
flood, they could only utter the words of their lips 
while their hearts were far away dreaming of joys 
untold. 

Two human lives, side by side, animated and glow- 
ing with thoughts and loves and hopes ; two living 


A MESSAGE FROM AFAR. 413 

worlds revolving ever around and around each other, 
attracted by the central sun that warms and enno- 
bles the highest and the lowest of all humanity ; two 
immortal souls traveling onward and onward to- 
wards the great unknown, — would they ever meet 
and unite in the holy unity of sanctified love, the ca- 
pacity for which allies the children of men to the 
Father in heaven? 

But love is full of resources. Naturally enough 
they could meet with freedom upon the charmed 
memory common to both — the old days at Pembroke 
school. On this mutual ground they came together, 
and imperceptibly diverging therefrom, wove for each 
other an outline history of their lives since they parted 
in the starlight so long ago. 

The busy hours were fast fleeing away, and Rich- 
ard had not yet performed a sacred duty he owed the 
dead. Hesitating long as if struggling with a great 
burden, at length he said : “I have sought you, Clare, 
far and wide for six long and dreary years, and the 
latter years of the search has been a sacred duty, for 
I bear a message to you from afar.” 

Clare started as if pierced with pain and exclaimed : 
“ It is as I have sometimes dreamed ! you met my 
father in the army and were present when he died ? ” 

“ Your dream, dear friend, was a prophecy. I met 
your father on the fatal field of Five Forks, and was 
wdth him when he died. I received his blessing for 
his wife and child, and am here to deliver it. Charged 
with this sacred duty, I have sought you for years to 
perform it.” 

“ Alas ! Did dear father then suppose mother still 
lived?” 

“Yes. His dying words were to his wife and 


414 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


child. He then related to her all that was said by 
her father, and how they happened to meet, conceal- 
ing only his own words, as he placed in the hand of 
the parent the tress of his daughter’s brown hair. 

Clare had long been in tears. The sweet words 
she had heard came to her like voices from the other 
world. And Richard had been the messenger to bring 
her the blessing of her parent. Strange indeed were 
the events of life blended together. 

The soldier had performed his duty and now must 
depart. And still the brimming river flowed on as 
ever, while yet the pent-up ocean of their love re- 
mained unrevealed. 


THE NEW STEADMAN. 


415 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE NEW STEADMAN. 

Two months had now elapsed since the trial. The 
plaintiff in the case had disappeared, and a new man 
had arisen in his place and stead. The old Steadman 
had passed away. He had vanished out of sight, lost 
in the retreating cloud, that, as it vanished forever, 
hurried into oblivion the old fabrications and fancies 
of a debauched and diseased mind ; and in its stead 
a new man had appeared, strong of will and firm of 
purpose, with a keen intellect, walking erect among 
his fellow-men, feeling the pulsations of a noble heart, 
actuated by high aims and exalted purposes, — an 
honest man. The Steadman of the lawsuit could no- 
where be found. His accustomed haunts revealed 
him not, and his old companions could give no tidings 
of the missing man. But a new Steadman had ap- 
peared, as if risen from the dead. A word of sym- 
pathy and love had been the means of a new creation, 
a new birth, and a new life. The kind words of the 
Parbery daughters had pierced through the sin and 
filth that encased him, and their healthful, genial in- 
fluence caused his shackles to fall. The voice of 
woman — woman the Deliverer, woman the Savior — 
had reached him, and he was born again to glorious 
life and manhood. It came beaming in upon his 
world of darkness and desolation like a ray of light 
from heaven. It came to deliver, to preserve, and to 
save. It was the voice of Salvation. 


416 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Steadman had reformed. For two months he had 
been sober. But phantoms and dim pictures of the 
old life still lingered in his mind. The fading skele- 
ton of some undefined horror would sometimes con- 
front him and then quickly disappear, as if a ghost 
had stalked across his pathway. What did those ter- 
rible years conceal? What dark secrets did these 
shadowy images foretell ? His old life haunted him, 
and he aroused every energy of his soul to fathom its 
mysteries. He would solve the enigma of himself. 

As Popper had sometimes feared, Steadman was 
too sober when he forged the will. But if any re- 
membrance of the act remained, they hoped to drown 
it by months of drunkenness, and so for a whole year 
kept the instrument of the crime stupefied with strong 
drink. But though the memory often sleeps, it never 
dies ; its secrets are often hidden, but are never lost. 

We never entirely forget. A thought, an idea, a 
word, once pictured on the brain is never erased. It 
remains, though we are entirely unconscious of its 
presence. Every day and all the time we are receiv- 
ing impressions and thinking thoughts, and though 
they disappear, none of them, no not one, is lost, but 
in the wonderful store- house of the mind they are all 
garnered and treasured, and kept for future use. The 
physical man may wither and decay ; the voice may 
falter and grow weak ; the tongue palsied, the sight 
dim and uncertain, the hearing dull and indistinct ; 
aches and pains may distort and disfigure our forms 
and features ; disease may cripple our faculties and 
means of expression ; but the inner man, formed and 
moulded by the innumerable thoughts and impressions 
of a lifetime, remains perfect and complete as we build 
it. Nothing is lost. A word, a look, an act, often 


THE NEW STEADMAN. 


41T 

recalls from a remote period in our lives the thoughts 
and impressions we had supposed gone forever. The 
appearance of a landscape, the form of a cloud, the 
expression of a face, a strain of music, the sound of a 
voice, often awakens in our memories scenes and in- 
cidents that otherwise might never have been re- 
called. 

And thus with Steadman. The year of night did 
not quite obliterate the shadow of his crime. He saw 
the shadow, but could not yet discover from whence it 
proceeded or what there was behind it. He struggled 
as if for life. These phantoms should be driven 
away or reveal the truth. Every incident remem- 
bered and recalled from this dark oblivion was care- 
fully preserved, as if collecting material for a picture 
to be spread upon a canvas. He remembered being 
found by Sharp and Stacy and taken to their office. 
He could see the office as he saw it then, and as that 
place had been his home for so long a period, he 
painted its picture on the canvas that it might not be 
lost. Then he saw himself watched and guarded by 
those who professed so much friendship. This place 
was his prison. He had not been permitted to see any 
of his old friends. The picture is beginning to speak. 

Being informed that instead of claiming his legacy 
under the old will, he had sued for the whole estate 
under a new will, which every circumstance indicated 
to be a forgery, his distress and agony of mind was 
appalling. Had he committed a crime ? He thought 
again of his prison, and attempted to fill up the out- 
line of the picture. He recalled the words, “ The 
old chest in the garret,” used by his keepers in their 
consultations. These were spead upon the canvas. 
Then the testimony of Bright, that the new will was 
27 


418 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


found in the old chest flashed into his mind. “ Copy 
of papers to serve on the Parbery daughters.” Yes, 
Popper had used these words, but when, and in what 
connection ? “ You must imitate the hand of Par- 

bery,” had also been said, but what did it mean? 
Did the daughters receive any papers with their 
father’s name signed to them ? He would ascertain. 
No. They had received no such papers. Then he 
saw himself seated at a table with a pen in his hand. 
“ I could once imitate his name exactly.” He heard 
these words as if himself were speaking. He seated 
himself at a table with pen, and paper, to see if the 
position and association would not recall something 
more. And then he caught the glimpse of another 
phantom. He could see the shadows of Popper, 
Sharp, and Stacy bending over, him with eager, anx- 
ious faces. Yes, there they were. He could see 
Sharp’s teeth, and the red folds of Popper’s neck. 
And what was he doing ? W riting, and they were 
watching him. The picture is making revelations. 
What was he writing ? “I could once imitate his 
name exactly.” Was he doing so now? Yes, he 
was writing Parbery’s name, over and over again. 

“ Help, oh, help to catch the pictuTe before it 
fades ! ” he cried out in his agony. He sought an in- 
terview with Richard, and day after day they met to 
further explore and fathom the great crime. Patiently 
and marvelously did Steadman labor, catching here 
and there a word, putting together, and side by side, 
disconnected thoughts, connecting broken memories of 
conversations and incidents, until they had rebuilded 
and reconstructed the whole fabric of Steadman’s life 
while imprisoned with the law firm, and the picture 
was complete. He had written the name of Parbery 


THE NEW STEADMAN 


419 

while seated at the table. But what did it signify ? 
What was its import ? This was not yet made to 
appear. Obtaining the forged will from the clerk of 
the court, and causing Steadman to be seated at a 
table, Richard suddenly placed that instrument before 
him, when Steadman instantly exclaimed : “ That is 
the paper to which I signed Parbery’s name ! Great 
God ! Is it possible that I have forged a will ? Oh, 
let me go back to my prison and there end my miser- 
able life ! ’’ 

“ Peace, my friend. Be strong and brave. We 
will yet vindicate you and punish the conspirators,” 
said Richard. 

Forth from this oblivion of darkness had they called 
this troubled life, and now they saw the part it had 
been made to act in the perpetration of the great 
crime. Forth from the region of silent forgetfulness 
had come the secret acts and words of the conspirators, 
until they were enabled to expose the whole compli- 
cated structure of the forgery and its attending cir- 
cumstances. Forth from this land of dreams and 
skeletons came the truth strong and mighty, and the 
fading picture was painted in colors of living light. 

And thus do the fetters and chains tighten their 
inexorable grasp, and the events foreshadowed move 
forward and onward to their appointed end. 


420 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


CHAPTER XXXVIL 
THE FLIGHT. 

Time brought no balm to the law firm. The days 
and weeks passed slowly but brought them no peace 
and no rest. Still the stones on which they trod rose 
up to accuse them ; still the avenging demons lurked 
in the dusky air, and peopled the night with unusual 
terrors ; still ghosts and goblins walked in the star- 
light to haunt and bewilder their footsteps. Their 
great crime appalled and stupefied their minds. They 
would flee, but whither ? Their guilt would follow 
them to the ends of the earth. To their terror-stricken 
minds their crime filled the world ; it occupied all 
space ; it compassed all time. They were slaves in a 
world of liberty ; prisoners though unconfined ; crim- 
inals though untried ; unpunished though scourged by 
an unrelenting lash. 

Steadman was their evil spirit. He had eluded 
their grasp and was free, — not only free from them, 
but also from the elder enemy that had so long en- 
slaved him. Of late they had noticed with alarm his 
frequent visits to the office of Judge Kent. At length 
they saw him, in company with Richard, enter the 
office of a magistrate. Was he seeking a warrant for 
their arrest ? It was in the dusk of evening. A 
hasty consultation ensued. Sharp and Stacy coun- 
seled immediate flight. Popper thought, from the 
length of time that had elapsed since the trial, all 


THE FLIGHT. 


421 


danger had passed, and, said he, “ Where will you 
flee ? Where will you find safety ? ” 

To which Sharp replied : “ I will make a struggle. 
I will not surrender without an effort. I will make 
my way to the West, if possible. There is a place in 
that benighted region ‘ beyond the genial influences 
-of civilization,' and that is just the place for me. At 
this moment the ‘ genial influences ’ are exactly what 
I have no longings for. The rest of you may do as 
you please, but I shall be off this very night.” 

“ I shall remain,” said Popper, “like an honest man. 
Flight is confession.” 

“ You might as well enter a plea of guilty at once,” 
said Stacy, and followed Sharp out into the darkness. 

Listening at the office of the magistrate they learned 
that a warrant for their arrest would issue in the 
morning, and then hurrying away commenced their 
flight. They had entered on a difficult and dangerous 
journey. The night was dark and dismal. The harm- 
less objects dimly seen assumed shapes and forms of 
terror. To their overwrought and excited imagina- 
tions, the darkness was peopled with hideous creatures 
seeking their destruction. The air seemed filled with 
an army of frightful phantoms, goblins, and evil spir- 
its, who grimly laughed at their distress and mocked 
at their fears. An avenging enemy came out from 
every fence corner, or hid among the trees to await 
the arrival of their companions, who seemed to come 
thronging in from their accustomed haunts, as if gath- 
ering for a carnival of death. The supernatural in- 
habitants of mysterious night came hurrying onward 
from their marvelous domain that separates the finite 
from the infinite, as if to hold a feast upon the mis- 
erable victims who ventured within their haunted 


422 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


dominions. Oh, night of dismal horrors ! Retribu- 
tion, sharp, bitter, and unrelenting had come at last. 
The spoils to come from the lawsuit had turned to 
dust and ashes, and from their blackened embers 
sprang a brood of terrors, full fledged and strong, that 
made life a living agony. 

Would the light never come? Would the day 
never dawn and drive back to their infernal homes 
these monsters of the darkness ? 

The fugitives thought to turn back and join 
Popper, yea, they would flee to the protecting walls 
of the penitentiary to escape the horrors that haunted 
their footsteps ; but the terrors they had passed, the 
long distance they had traveled, and the impossibility 
of reaching him before the . coming of the day dis- 
suaded them, and they pursued their onward course. 
They hurried on, but they knew not whither, fleeing 
from the dungeon bars and prison walls they left be- 
hind them. 

The day had now dawned, and they found them- 
selves upon the skirts of a wood which they quickly 
entered for concealment and safety, but here as else- 
where they were not at rest. Not far away they saw 
the smoke rising from the sugar-camp, and in the 
distance the stroke of the woodman’s axe resounded 
upon the still morning air. They fled from these 
evidences of civilization, and penetrated deep into the 
woods until the sounds died upon their ears. Soon 
they came to a small opening as of an old cleared 
place, where the sun shone down warm and bright, 
and it being entirely secluded by a thick growth of 
underbrush upon its borders they entered it and here 
thought to find rest. They were in the Pembroke 
woods, and were reposing in the old Indian sugar- 


THE FLIGHT. 


423 


camp where Richard and John once spent a stormy 
night. 

As the shades of evening began to fall they ven- 
tured from their hiding place, and leaving the woods 
sought the beach of the sea, and the wild, rocky 
shore, in the hope of seeing some water craft upon 
which they could hasten their flight ; but being dis- 
appointed in this, when the darkness had overspread 
the earth, they again entered upon their painful 
march on foot, fleeing from the dungeon bars and 
the prison walls they left behind them. With the re- 
turn of night came again the citizens of the dusky 
empire, whom the morning sun had driven to their 
hiding places, — ghosts and goblins, phantoms and 
frightful forms, creatures of their frenzied imagina- 
tions, to laugh again with demoniac joy at their fears, 
and to mock at their distress. They did not travel 
alone. They were attended upon their journey by a 
train of followers who peopled the air. They ran, and 
their attendants kept close upon them ; they halted, 
and their companions did the same ; they hid in cav- 
erns and caves, but their company was always with 
them. The grazing cow and the feeding horse were 
magnified into ill-shapen monsters seeking their de- 
struction ; even the friendly guide-post that would 
have aided them in their flight was converted into an 
angry giant with bow and quiver to destroy them. 

Thus they wandered for seven nights along the sea- 
shore, keeping in concealment during the day, and 
seeking their food at the lonely farm-house or fisher- 
man’s hut where least likely to attract attention. 
Upon the morning of the eighth day of their journey, 
as the dawn approached, they discovered a lonely, 
unused house close down by the sea. It was old 


424 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


and fallen down, and had the appearance of having 
been long deserted. The place formerly occupied as 
a garden was all overgrown and neglected, and there 
were no evidences to indicate that it had been used 
for years. It was in a lonely, unfrequented place, not 
likely to be disturbed ; and the fugitives, hungry and 
jaded for want of sleep, tired and footsore from travel- 
ing, thought to find rest and security in the deserted 
building. They entered it and soon slept. 

Towards noon of the day a carriage appeared in 
the distance. It came nearer and nearer, and now 
had turned off the road and seemed to be making di- 
rectly towards the old house, and still the wanderers 
slept on unconscious. 

The carriage was now near at hand. It was driven 
by an aged colored coachman, and halted at the gar- 
den gate, where two young ladies alighted and were 
about to enter the garden when two men ran out of 
the house and made for the bluffs. The noise of the 
carriage and the sound of voices had aroused the nerv- 
ous sleepers, and as they came out of the building 
Stacy and Sharp met Clare and Kate, and they rec- 
ognized each other. Their astonishment was mutual. 
Of all the persons in the world the fleeing fugitives 
least expected to see, at that time and place, the girl 
who had overthrown all their hopes; and Clare as 
little expected to meet the men who had caused so 
much trouble to her mature years hurriedly fleeing 
from the old home of her childhood. To their guilty 
minds, Clare was the avenging spirit from whom 
there was no escape. 

Clare had made this spring-time journey to beautify 
with the hand of love the grave of her brother, and 
after paying this tribute of affection to the dear de- 


THE, FLIGHT. 


425 


parted, and looking again at the mysterious names 
upon the rocks with Kate, she made ready to return 
to her home. As they entered the carriage she said 
to her friend : “We ought to inform the authorities 
of our discovery. The officers had warrants for the 
arrest of these men before we left home. Let us 
drive to the nearest station and send a dispatch.” 

To which Kate. replied: “Certainly. If we delay 
until we reach home, our information would be too 
old to be of any service. But to whom shall we send 
the dispatch ? Do you know the name of any of the 
officers ? It would answer the same purpose to send 
to the Doctor, I suppose.” 

“ I will send it to Richard,” said Clare. “ He is 
in the city, and will give the information to the proper 
persons. These men are fleeing from their pursuers.” 

Then giving the necessary directions to Uncle 
George, they hurried away to the station, and arriv- 
ing there in Jwo hours’ time, Clare quickly forwarded 
the following dispatch : — 

“ To Richard Pembroke, Boston. 

“We saw Stacy and Sharp about noon to-day. 
They ran out of my father’s old house by the bluffs, 
as we were about to enter it. They fled to the bluffs. 

“ Clare Lincoln.” 

But how would Richard be able to identify this 
locality ? He knew nothing of her old home, and as 
the Doctor was the only person who did know, as she 
thought, she added to her dispatch as follows : “ In- 
quire of Doctor Hume, as to location of the old 
house.” 

She did not yet know that Richard could explain 
the mystery of the names upon the rocks, or that the 
location of her old home was very familiar to him. 


426 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


The information Richard received came opportunely, 
for the officers were becoming discouraged in their 
efforts. They had searched everywhere, as they 
thought, for the missing men, but in vain. Now they 
renewed their labors with energy, and very soon were 
ransacking the old house, and clambering over the 
bluffs. 

Stacy and Sharp in their flight passed by the black- 
ened rocks where the beacon fires used to blaze, and 
they discovered the names written there. Curse 
the names ! ” said Stacy. “ The very rocks and stones 
but remind us of our destroyers. But for an angry 
word spoken to the darky and my infernal avarice, my 
name might have been there in the place of the silver- 
tongued Pembroke. Oh, curse the cruelty of fate ! ” 

“ Don’t, for Heaven’s sake, waste your time or 
strength in dreaming over what might have been,” 
replied Sharp. ‘‘We seem to have run into the very 
haunts of our enemy. Our business now is to escape 
the snares of the girl you could not wed. You may 
rest assured that she will inform upon us, and in 
twenty-four hours’ time we shall be overtaken and 
caught. Better curse the fate that sent us into that 
old house this morning. But for that accidental dis- 
covery we should have eluded them, but now there is 
not much hope.” 

“ Do you suppose she knew us ? ” inquired Stacy, 
“ and if she did it will take her four days to return 
home, and in that length of time we can be far away. 
And then how does she know we are fleeing ? I doubt 
if she knows a warrant has been issued.” 

“ Don’t talk such nonsense to me,” said Sharp. 
“ That girl knows all that Pembroke does. She saved 
the other lawsuit, and very likely is the instigator of 


THE FLIGHT. 


427 


this one against us. Steadman was at the Doctor’s 
house immediately before the warrant issued. She, 
of course, knew all about it, and it is more than 
probable that we are the verj’- objects of her journey. 
Depend upon it she is aiding the police. What else 
could have brought her to this old house. Her luck 
in finding the will has made her believe she can do 
anything. In two hours’ time the officers will know 
just where we are. Do you suppose such a girl would 
delay her discovery until she reaches home ? No. 
She will use the telegraph, and it is not twenty miles 
from here to a station. The revenge of a woman 
does not often sleep.” 

“ Well,” said Stacy, “ what do you propose to do ? 
Shall we surrender ? ” 

“ No,” replied Sharp. “ What does a surrender in- 
volve ? Nothing less than years in prison, and I will 
never yield as long as life and strength remain. A 
chance boat or fishing craft along the shore here is 
now our only hope. If we could take a turn among 
the fishermen for six months, until the excitement had 
died away, we should be safe. Nothing short of this 
will save us. We must take to the water for our sal- 
vation. ” 

« Then,” said Stacy, “ we might as well find some 
secure cave from which we can have a view of the sea, 
while we are yet concealed from sight, and wait the 
chances of seeing a boat. I fear the chances will be 
few as early as this in the season.” 

<4 ■\Y'e will do as you suggest,” said Sharp, but it 
must be miles from here, for to this very vicinity will 
the officers come. We must travel the balance of the 
day, and to-night, and then look out for a boat. A 
fishing craft would be the safest thing. If we could 


428 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


become honest fishermen for a season, it would be 
glorious. We must make the attempt. But oh, my 
poor blistered feet ! ” 

Then they renewed their journey with redoubled 
speed, following along close by the shore that no 
fishing boat might escape their sight. But the fates 
were against them. Before they could carry their 
plans into execution, the officers, acting on the infor- 
mation received from Clare, had overtaken and cap- 
tured them. 

Thus the flight, as Popper had prophesied, ended 
in failure. The place most unsought had been found 
of all ; and the visions of prison walls, dimly seen so 
long ago, while the conspiracy was maturing, were 
realities ; and so constantly had they dwelt on the 
sight, that, in company with Popper, they entered 
their dungeons as if returning to an old and familiar 
home. 


THE ELDER MESSAGE. 


429 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE ELDER MESSAGE. 

Lovely spring is vanishing away as charming 
summer appears. All nature is brilliant with glori- 
ous life, fresh and beautiful as the morning. Oh, 
gracious nature ! So bountiful and so kind ; so con- 
stant in its benevolence ; so attentive to every want ; 
so watchful in its care. Man may despise and abuse 
the bountiful giver ; he may trample its precious 
gifts under his feet, but the patient, forgiving mother 
heeds not his ingratitude, but year after year and 
age after age spreads her table with luxuries, and 
invites her children to partake of the feast and be 
happy. 

“ Evergreen Home,” embowered among the trees, 
its purity purified, rejoices in its great deliverance. 
The sun is sinking in the western sky, casting a 
softened mellow light upon the landscape, shrub, and 
flower ; the birds are calling their companions to join 
in the evening hymn, and the balmy air is in repose. 
Kate, who is still making her home with her friend, 
is riding with John; the Doctor and his sister are in 
the house reading the evening news ; and Clare, who 
has been among the flowers, has seated herself in the 
rustic seat near the fountain. Soon she hears foot- 
steps approaching, and quickly Richard is at her side. 
He had that day achieved another victory in the trial 
and conviction of Popper, Sharp, and Stacy for for- 


430 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


gery, and came to inform Clare of the result, which 
he did. His visits had been frequent of late, -but still 
the shining river rolled between them. The winter 
had passed, the spring come and gone, and the mys- 
terious problem was no nearer solution than ever. 
Oh, these weary, waiting years ! He could endure 
the torture no longer. He must know his fate. 

He had not yet informed Clare that long before he 
had found her he had visited her old home by the 
sea, and he said: “Were you never reminded that 
this wide-spreading elm, in whose shade we now sit, is 
like the one beside your brother’s grave in the little 
garden of the old home ? ” 

Clare, startled and surprised, replied : “ Indeed, 
Richard, this elm is like the one at brother’s grave ; 
but I am astonished to know that you have been at 
my old home.” 

“I have visited the place thrice,” said Richard. 
“ Once when you were in Europe, once nearly a year 
ago, and once recently, when with the officers in pur- 
suit of Sharp and Stacy.” 

“It is a place very dear to me,” said Clare, “but 
you must have found it very lonesome and dreary.” 

“ On the contrary,” he said, “ I was happier there 
than at any other place. I had searched the world 
over for you, and the sight of your old home gave 
me infinite pleasure.” 

“ The events of our lives,” she replied, “ have 
been strangely blended together, while we have been 
as strangely separated.” 

A long silence ensued. They were still sitting 
side by side, but looking far away from each other, 
as if peering into the future and too busy with their 
thoughts for speech. The brimming river still ffowed 


THE ELDER MESSAGE. 


431 

on, but they were nearing each other so rapidly, and 
now could almost reach across its shining flood. At 
length Richard broke the silence and said : “ I shall 
pain you, I know, when I tell you that I failed to 
mention one incident that occurred at the death of 
your father. I could not inform you before, but now 
I will try.” 

He then took from his pocket, and unfolding it, 
with beaming eyes said: “ Do you recognize this little 
tress of brown hair ? It is the same as when you 
gave it me years ago.” 

Clare could only say, “ O Richard ! Is it possible ! 
Did dear father see this ? ” 

“ Yes, he had it in his hand and kissed it over and 
over again, and said, ‘ I thought my son was here, 
and so he is.’ ” 

Clare hid her face and wept. The tress of hair 
had made wonderful revelations. To her father it 
had revealed a son, and to her it opened a new 
world, and filled her soul with sublimest hope. 

Rising from her seat, she hurriedly said: “ Richard, 
will you excuse me a moment, while I step to the 
house? ” and she left him. Why did she leave? He 
knew the school-girl’s gift had revealed his heart, but 
in this supreme moment why did she flee from his 
sight ? Clare was soon again at his side. Traces of 
tears still remained on her cheek, but she looked calm 
and happy. During her absence she had placed the 
old ring on ber finger, and extending her hand to 
him, said: “ Does my teacher remember his gift to his 
child pupil? Like the tress of hair, it has been cher- 
ished for years, and until we met in the court room, 
had been my constant companion from the moment 
you gave it me at the little gate.” 


432 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ O Clare ! Dear Clare ! Do I dream ? Is it 
true ! Indeed true ! ” 

He had taken her hand in his own, and she did not 
withdraw it. It nestled there as if it had found its 
home at last. The banks of the brimming river were 
left behind, and they were sailing out into its spark- 
ling flood. 

Thus they sat, while the long-drawn shadows spread 
over the earth. They were silent, but it was the si- 
lence of perfect love. In this thrilling moment no 
language could express their thoughts. 

Still the fountain murmured its unceasing music, 
and the lengthening shadows were vanishing away, 
lost in the shades of the evening, but the lovers still 
sat there dreaming happy dreams in the morning of 
their new life. 

At length Richard, taking the tress of hair in his 
hand, said : “ My Clare, for years I have cherished this 
precious treasure because of its giver. My life, my 
hope, and my all are yours. I love you as the an- 
gels love.” 

To which the dear girl, looking in his eyes, answered 
through her tears : “ Richard, dear Richard, I am all 
your own, and have been for years. Let us thank 
our Creator that we have found each other at last.” 

“ O Clare, my love, my life ! ” saying which he 
clasped the trembling girl in his arms, but their 
hearts were too full for speech. It was a sublime 
moment, and now the twinkling stars came out in 
beauty to shine approvingly on this holy union. 

“ The teacher has found his pupil, and I will con- 
tinue his pupil forever, clinging to him as the vine to 
the oak, ever loving, ever trusting, and from his noble 
life I will learn lessons of hope, love, and charity.” 


THE ELDER MESSAGE. 


433 


“ Oh, dear Clare, the teacher will be taught by his 
pupil. She will lead him, and she will guide him. 
Oh, the joy of this precious moment ! It seems like 
something that does not belong to earth. Can it be 
that my darling Clare, whom I have worshiped all 
these years, is all my own ? ” 

“Yes, dear, all your own, and forever. Let us 
thank the Giver of every blessing for the happiness 
He has bestowed upon us.” 

“We will thank him with our hearts and our 
lives.” 

“ And with our prayers,” answered Clare. 

The moments were gliding on, and after a pause 
Richard said ; “ I must tell you, dear, that you are 
linking yourself to poverty. Dear old Pembroke is 
gone ; Bowker’s mortgage did its work ; but if life 
and strength are spared me, it shall yet be the home 
of dear father and mother.” 

“ Richard, I am an orphan and the child of pov- 
erty, but my heart and my hope are strong, and I will 
help you in all your struggles ; I will share all your 
trials; I will rejoice with you and weep with you, 
and, as God gives me help, will be your true and lov- 
ing wife.” 

“ Inspired by your love, dear Clare, I cannot fail 
to win success or to lead a noble life.” 

Then the years yielded up their inner history, and 
the mysteries were all explained. And thus they 
crossed the charming river, and entered the Elysian 
Fields beyond. The twilight had deepened into dark- 
ness, and the stars came out in glory, as upon that 
elder, night, in the long ago, when they parted for so 
long and so cruel a separation. 

They entered the house and sought the Doctor for 
28 


434 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


his blessing. Being informed of what had transpired, 
he said : “ Oh, my children, this is what I have de- 
voutly wished and prayed for these many months ; 
and I give you my blessing, and ask God to bless you 
ever more.” 


BOWKERS FORTUNE. 


436 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 
bowker’s fortune. 

Bowker’s first name was Jacob. It is necessary 
to state this fact as matter of history, for in all his 
numerous business transactions wherein he was re- 
quired to sign his name, he uniformly designated him- 
self simply as “ Bowker,” and never indulged in the 
foolish extravagance of writing his first name. Per- 
haps economical considerations of waste of paper, 
time, pen and ink, induced this practice ; or perhaps 
he was conscious that he represented the last of the 
Bowkers, and that in himself was embodied and con- 
tained the essence and energy of all his race. There- 
fore, to himself he was “ Bowker,” and that alone ; 
but to the world at large he was something more, and 
this something found expression in the designation, 
“ Bowker, the Miser ; ” and so it happened that the 
use of the first term always suggested the last, and 
the last the first. The former was the synonym of the 
latter. Every thought or impression of “Bowker” 
was always attended and accompanied by its shadow 
and picture, “ The Miser,” and by the use of either 
term the other was also expressed. It is more than 
probable that this fact, to the practical mind of Bow- 
ker, suggested the propriety of dispensing with the 
useless “ Jacob,” which to him did not express any- 
thing at all. 

Time with his scythe at last had overtaken Bowker 


436 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


with his cane, and won the race. The supposition 
and belief among many that he had always existed, 
and always would exist unchanged and unchangeable, 
was at fault, for Bowker, in truth, had been gathered 
to his fathers, if he had any relatives of that denomi- 
nation. 

The last we saw of him, he had grasped Pembroke 
Place upon his mortgage, and become the undoubted 
owner thereof. This was among his latest conquests, 
and he did not enjoy his victory for many years, for 
during the winter following the triumph of Doctor 
Hume in the lawsuit, Bowker sullenly surrendered to 
the gi‘eat conqueror of all. 

Bowker left a fortune. What was to become of it? 
To whom did it rightfully belong ? The matter was 
placed in the hands of the authorities to ascertain, and 
after considerable patient inquiry and investigation 
the fact was established that the ancestors of Bowker 
were sea-faring men, and had lived on Prince Ed- 
ward’s Island. It was further established that his 
father and mother in their day and generation were 
respectable, well-to-do people, and that they died leav- 
ing several children. Among the traditions handed 
down and remembered by the older residents in the 
neighborhood where the family had lived were the 
following: That Jacob in early life gave promise of 
remarkable intelligence and capacity, and that to a 
sparkling intellect was joined one of the kindest 
hearts and the most benevolent disposition ; that his 
fond parents, proud of his genius and ability, and 
prouder still of the qualities of his noble manhood, be- 
stowed upon him a fine education, and prepared him 
for the ministry ; that when about entering upon his 
final course of study preparatory to his exalted avoca- 


BOWKERS FORTUNE. 


* 43T 


tion he met a young lady, who, by failing to return 
his passionate love, brought upon him the ruin that 
followed. This disappointment seemed to wither and 
blight every aspiration of his noble soul ; it benumbed 
his ardent desire and thirst for knowledge ; it robbed 
him of his manhood, dethroned his hope, converted 
his boundless love, his benevolence and charity into 
bitterest hatred, and thereafter his whole being and 
nature changed. The man had fallen, the good and 
the great were burned and eliminated from his soul, 
and only the frame-work of evil passions and desires 
— avarice, hatred, distrust, and revenge — remained to 
control and guide him. From thence, so the tradition 
ran, he became misanthropic, a hater of mankind, and 
attempted to drown the remembrance of the great 
ruin that had overtaken him by getting and hoarding 
money. In the pursuit of this object, and to separate 
himself from the early associations of his life that now 
only brought him grief and despair, unknown to his 
parents and friends, he secretly left his home, and was 
never heard of afterwards. 

Further investigations demonstrated that Jacob 
Bowker, the miser, who for years had lived in Massa- 
chusetts, was none other than the youth who thus fled 
from his home and friends, in pursuit of a balm for a 
broken heart. 

Fortunately, among the papers and effects found 
in the possession of Bowker at the time of his death 
was an old family record. It looked as if it had been 
unopened and unused for years, and had been cast 
aside as a useless thing, until it became material to 
inquire who Bowker really was. He had left a vast 
estate, and among his title deeds, bonds, mortgages, 
promissory notes, and leases was found his deed to 


438 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Pembroke Place. To whom did this, and all the other 
property, now belong? Did the deceased leave a 
will, and if not, who inherited this splendid fortune ? 
The authorities of the state at this time began to take 
an interest in the matter, for in the failure of a will 
or heirs the property would escheat to the Common- 
wealth. 

In this situation of affairs, the old and worm-eaten 
record became the object of great interest and curi- 
osity. How it came in Bowker’s possession no one 
knew, but it was found with, his other papers, and 
therefore no doubt was entertained of its genuineness, 
and perhaps it contained the key to unlock the mys- 
tery that had always enveloped Bowker’s name and 
history. 

It was opened and read, and from its pages we 
extract the following ; — 

“ The Bowker Family Eecobd. 


Timothy Bowker 
to 

Elizabeth Dennison. 


Married at P. E. Island, 
May 17, 1772. 


Their Children. 

Benjamin Bowker Bom June 29, 1773. 

Jacob Bowker “ Oct. 15, 1775. 

Ann Bowker “ Dec. 3, 1777. 

Benjamin Bowker . . . Died April 19, 1780. 

Ann Bowker 


to 

Edward Westport. 


Married Sept. 13, 1804. 


Children. 

Mary Westport Born April 14, 1806. 

Marriage, 

Mary Westport 
to 

John Lincoln. 




Married March 17, 1835, 
in Massachusetts, U. S. A. 


Ann, the mother of Mary . . Died Jan’y, 1826.” 

The entry recording the marriage of Mary West- 
port and John Lincoln was in a different handwriting 


BOWKER'S FORTUNE. 439 

from any other, and upon comparison it was found to 
be that of Jacob Bowker. It therefore seemed that 
while carefully concealing himself from any of the 
family of his parents or their descendants, he yet 
knew something of their history. 

By this record it appeared, then, that if Bowker had 
left no will, the heirs of Mary Westport, if she left 
any heirs, would inherit the property of Bowker. 
In default of heirs and a will, the property would 
escheat to the state. 

The authorities of the state laid the matter before 
Judge Kent, to investigate and determine to whom the 
property belonged. An administrator was appointed 
to take care of the property pending the investigation, 
and from him Judge Kent received the family record 
and entered upon his labors. 

From an examination of the record he soon arrived 
at the conclusion that the heirs of Mary Lincoln, if 
any, would inherit the property. He recalled the 
name of Clare Lincoln as that of the Doctor’s child, 
and determined, as a mere matter of curiosity, to learn 
something of her history and parentage. One other 
consideration sent him in pursuit of this inquiry. 
He saw by the signs of the times that his beloved 
student, Richard Pembroke, would some day take 
Clare Lincoln, the heroine of the lost will, to be his 
wife, and in that event he devoutly hoped she would 
inherit the fortune of Bowker. 

With a view to prosecute his inquiries, he made a 
visit to “ Evergreen Home,” and had a private con- 
sultation with the Doctor, Receiving from the Doctor 
such information as impressed him strongly with the 
belief that Clare Lincoln was the daughter of Mary 
Westport Lincoln, who was the daughter of Ann 


440 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


Bowker and Edward Westport, and therefore the 
heir of Jacob Bowker, he instituted inquiries to de- 
termine in fact if his impressions were not true. To 
this end he made a journey to Prince Edward’s Isl- 
and, after cautioning the Doctor not to disclose to 
Clare or Richard the object of the journey, or any- 
thing concerning the investigations on foot, and was 
there fortunate enough to find an old record of the 
Westport family in the possession of a distant rela- 
tive of Mary Westport. From this and other proof 
it conclusively appeared that Clare Lincoln was the 
only heir of Mary Westport, intermarried with John 
Lincoln, who was the daughter of Ann Bowker, inter- 
married with Edward Westport, who was the sister 
of Jacob Bowker, the deceased. It further appeared, 
as it did by the Bowker family record, that Mary 
Westport was the only child of Ann Bowker and 
Edward Westport, and that Benjamin Bowker, 
brother of Jacob, had died in his infancy, leaving no 
heirs. 

These matters of proof being made in legal form, 
it was adjudged and decreed by the court that Clare 
Lincoln was the only heir of Jacob Bowker, deceased, 
and as such that she inherited all his property, both 
real and personal. This decree was entered a few 
days after the engagement of Clare and Richard, but 
as yet the whole matter had been kept a profound 
secret from them. The day the decree was finally 
made and entered, a further and final examination of 
Bowker’s papers and effects disclosed the astonishing 
fact that he had left a will. It had been overlooked 
in the bundle of deeds and mortgages. It was in the 
words and figures following : — 


BOWKERS FORTUNE. 


441 


“ In the name of the Benevolent Father of all. 

“ I, Jacob Bowker, second son of Timothy and Eliz- 
abeth Bovvker, late of Prince Edward’s Island, being 
of sound mind and memory do make and publish this 
my last will and testament : 

“ First. I commit my soul to God who gave it, and 
my body to the earth from whence it came. 

“ Second. As to my property, both real, personal, 
and mixed, of every kind and description, name and 
nature, which has been accumulated by years of toil 
and labor, in the vain effort to cause me to forget the 
great misfortune of my youth, that robbed me of all 
the sweetness of life, I hereby give and bequeath said 
property in equal proportions, absolutely and forever, 
to the child or children of Mary Westport, the 
daughter of my sister Ann. In default of such child 
or children, I give my property in trust to the Gov- 
ernor of the State of Massachusetts, to be by him 
invested in founding and sustaining a college for the 
education of such indigent students as desire to enter 
the ministry of the Episcopal Church. 

“ In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my 
hand and seal this 10th day of January, 1864. 

“ Jacob Bowker.’’ [Seal.] 

The will, being duly witnessed, was at once ad- 
mitted to probate. Proof of Clare s heirship and iden- 
tity being made, the great fortune was ready to be 
delivered to her. 

Kichard had informed Clare of the prolonged strug- 
gle of his parents with Bowker and its disastrous 
termination, and naturally enough she had partaken 
of his hatred of the “ old miser,” and since their en- 
gagement, and learning Richard’s absorbing desire to 


442 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


recover his old home for his parents, she had heartily 
sympathized with him in this laudable object. 

It now became the Doctor's duty, and it was one 
of the most pleasant tasks of his whole life, to inform 
Clare that she was the owner of a fortune, — indeed 
that her property nearly equaled his own. 

Immediately after the vast property under the will 
had been made ready for delivery, he returned from 
the city to his home, and seeing Clare, called her to 
him and said : “ My child, I bring you good news. 
Another will has come to light, and you are the 
owner of a fortune.” 

“ I, the owner of a fortune ? I cannot understand 
you. I have not a relative in the wide world.” 

“ Perhaps not now, dear child, but only a short 
time ago you had a living relative, and he has left 
you his entire estate, and it is a large one sure 
enough.” 

“Tell me the name. I am only sorry I could not 
have seen him before he died. Where did he live ? ” 

“Did Richard never tell you of Bowker, the 
miser, who finally succeeded in becoming the owner 
of Pembroke Place ? ” 

“ Yes, and I have learned to think him a very 
wicked man. Richard’s one object now is to recover 
this old home of his parents.” 

“ He will recover it, my child, and in a very agree- 
able and remarkable manner.” 

“ I rejoice. Doctor, to hear you say so. But how ? 
Who is Bowker ? ” 

“ He was the son of Timothy and Elizabeth Bow- 
ker, of Prince Edward’s Island. He had a sister 
Ann, who married Edward Westport. Their daugh- 
ter Mary was your mother.” 


BOWKEWS FORTUNE, 


443 


Clare shuddered at the thought that she was a 
relative of Bowker, the miser, and the Doctor inter- 
preting her meaning, said : “ Do not judge too harshly, 
dear child ; your relative was more to be pitied than 
blamed. He was a noble youth, but a terrible mis- 
fortune overshadowed his life, and he set out to, 
hoard money, to cure the agony of a bleeding heart. 
Here is his will. Read it while I tell you his his- 
tory.’’ 

After hearing the story of his life, Clare said : “I 
pity, while I love him. Oh, why did he not con- 
tinue his studies, and in the ministry seek the conso- 
lations of religion? ” 

“ The truth is, that when the love of his great 
heart was turned to despair, the darkened cloud over- 
shadowed his intellect and he knew not what he did. 
After all his eagerness to accumulate money it did 
not bring any happiness. He became the owner of a 
fortune, but look in his will and see that his heart 
was bleeding and broken to the last.” 

“ Oh, if I could only have seen and helped him.” 

“ It is now too late, but with the fortune he has 
left you, you may be able to heal other broken hearts. 
Great happiness is in store for jmu, for now you can 
in a measure satisfy your longing desire to relieve 
the poor and the afflicted. Do you realize that you 
are the owner of Pembroke Place ? How many 
hearts will that make glad ? What can you not do 
when my fortune is added to that of your own ? ” 

“ O Doctor, you amaze me I I cannot fully com- 
prehend all you have said. Is it really true that I 
am the owner of Pembroke Place ? I must hasten 
to inform Richard. How he will rejoice, and what 
happiness it will bring to his dear parents. 


444 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


“ The old miser whom you at first despised is 
likely to be the means of doing very much good. 
But keep all this to yourself, dear child, until your 
wedding-day. Upon that happy occasion present to 
your husband the deed of his old home. Oh, my 
dear Clare, how much happiness it is yours to bestow. 
God bless my child.’ ^ 


MATRIMONIAL. 


445 


CHAPTER XL. 

MATRIMONIAL. 

It was a glad morning. 

The ripened fruit waited on the generous trees, the 
golden grain loaded the harvest fields, bountiful Sum- 
mer had yielded her treasures to the early days of 
autumn, and over all the mellow sky blending with 
the foliage of a thousand hues and colors created a 
fairy land of beauty, and fulfilled the promise of a 
bountiful harvest-time. 

It was indeed a propitious morning, for it was to 
see united in divine unity, loving hearts whose sacred 
communion should endure forever and forever ; to 
witness the birth of new families, and to see created 
new homes around whose hearth-stones would gather 
the children of love, and from whose sacred altars 
would ascend prayers and thanksgivings to the Com- 
mon Father of all the Families of Earth. 

“ Evergreen Home ” was astir with the first gleam 
of the dawn. Clare and Kate could not slumber upon 
this eventful morning. Their acts to-day would be 
the memories of the future, and they moved as if 
garnering precious treasures. 

The day had now advanced, and the guests began 
to appear. Glistening carriages came rolling out from 
the city, freighted with bright and smiling faces, — a 
happy, joyful company, beautiful as the morning that 
greeted them. The members of the Bench and Bar, 


446 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


headed by Judge Kent, were among the first arrivals. 
Then came the professors of the schools, men of 
science, literature, and art, old friends of the Pem- 
brokes and the Doctor, the foremost families of the 
cit}^, sages of wisdom, learning, and culture. Then 
followed the young, the gay, and fair, friends of Rich- 
ard and John, Clare and Kate, joyous with hope 
and expectation, fresh as the clear morning air. The 
Parbery daughters came to their old home again, 
and with them Steadman, purified as by fire, and 
sparkling with wit and genius. The Pembroke 
school was represented by Ellen Gray and Jane Nor- 
cross, companions of Clare in the spelling-match and 
exhibition, in the happy days when she lived with 
her father and mother. Also came many companions 
of Richard and John in the army, to do honor to the 
occasion. It was a rare assemblage gathered there 
to do homage to the Doctor’s child — the fisherman’s 
daughter — the heroine of the lost will. 

The Doctor was eloquent in his hospitality, the 
inspiration of the occasion making him young again. 

The appointed hour had now arrived, — the supreme 
hour to which all others are secondary and subor- 
dinate, — the moment of destiny, when souls are to be 
united as one, and for eternity. A breathless silence 
pervaded the assembled company. Expectation and 
curiosity were at their height. The happy pairs had 
met in the upper hall, and exchanging a loving word 
and a fond kiss, as if bidding adieu to the old life ; 
and, being preceded by the minister, their grooms- 
men, maids of honor, and attendants, entered upon 
the trying ordeal that was to end in serenest happi- 
ness. An ordeal, and yet a triumph. All the dis- 
tressing doubts and fears, all the blasted hopes and 


MATRIMONIAL. 


44T 


cruel disappointments were swallowed up and lost in 
this, the happiest time. What though the tiny bud, 
planted in the old Pembroke School-house, had seen 
a troubled life ; it was in full blossom now, and its 
beauty made the whole earth beautiful. What though 
the Stanley Mansion, in the midst of war’s desola- 
tion, had witnessed the birth of a love that required 
years of struggle and trial for its fulfillment ; it was 
consummated now, and the trials only added to its 
sweetness and perfection. And so the ordeal was 
but a triumphal march to a higher and better life. 

Arriving at the appointed place, the minister came 
forward and stood before them, — Clare and Richard, 
Kate and John. The grand old ceremony of the 
Episcopal Church united forever their waiting souls ; 
and when they came to the ceremony of the ring, 
Richard placed upon the trembling finger of Clare 
the old ring, her cherished companion of all the 
troubled years, the gift of the school-master to his 
pupil. She would have no other, and this ring, as it 
had in the past, should continue in all the future to 
typify and bespeak the endless character of the love 
she gave its giver. 

The ceremony over, the congratulations given and 
received, and the bountiful repast partaken of amidst 
mirth and jollity, Clare timidly whispered to Richard : 
“ Darling, it is all over now, and I am yours forever. 
Let us thank the Father Almighty.” 

“ Yes, dear,” he answered, “ and I am yours, and 
with my life and my soul will I serve you and love 
you.” 

“ I know, darling, your absorbing ambition to re- 
cover dear old Pembroke Place for your father and 
mother, — my father and mother now, blessed thought, 


448 


CLARE LINCOLN. 


— and this wish of yours it is mine to gratify. I am 
the owner of the dear old home, and with it a vast 
amount of other property. You are astonished, but 
I will explain it all at the first opportunity. Your 
wife now presents to her husband, as her wedding 
gift, the loved home of his parents.” 

The deed for the property, which had been secretly 
handed Clare by the Doctor after the repast, she now 
presented to Richard, and said: “This, dear, is the 
deed of Pembroke Place, from Clare Lincoln to Rich- 
ard Pembroke.” 

Bewildered and amazed Richard could say nothing ; 
but the Doctor, understanding the transaction, came 
forward and said to Clare : “ Dear child, you cannot 
thus give up your property without receiving some- 
thing in return. Here is my wedding gift to my 
child. It is a deed to Clare Lincoln Pembroke of 
‘ Evergreen Home,’ and all my other property, sub- 
ject only to the life interest therein of myself and sis- 
ter. You have amazed your husband by your gift, 
and I have astonished you both by mine. Do not 
protest. You are my children, and I love you. Be- 
sides, you saved the property and it belongs to you 
by right. And with my gift goes my blessing, and 
the prayer that God will bless you evermore.” 

Then Richard calling his parents to his side, agi- 
tated and bewildered, said : “ Dear father and mother, 
this darling wife of mine, your daughter, has this 
moment presented me the deed of our old home. It 
is all a mystery. I know not how it is and do not 
inquire. Therefore, when you journey hence, go to 
the old home and be happy.” 


CONCLUSION. 


449 


^ CHAPTER XLI. 

CONCLUSION. 

Again it is sunset in New England. 

The long-drawn shadows spread over mountain and 
plain, meadow and forest, creating a world of fancy 
and fiction ; the land of dreams filled with airy noth- 
ings, carved into a thousand forms and figures, peo- 
pling the earth with Titans and Giants like those of the 
olden time. A colossal man follows the husbandman 
to his home, his rustic castle is converted into a pal- 
ace of beauty, and his little child, as it plays upon 
the lawn, is attended by a dusky companion who 
never wearies in its devotion and attention. The 
lights and shades of the declining day paint the land- 
scape and the mountain with forms of beauty and 
grandeur ; gorgeous colors are in the sky and cloud : 
here a castle with turret and battlement filled with 
armed men, flying through the air as if in pursuit of 
some imagined enemy ; there a ship with masts, sails, 
and rigging calmly floating upon a placid sea ; and in 
the dim distance are mountain-ranges, lake, valley, 
and plain — a universe of shadow soon to pass away ; 
a world of dreams typical of human life, soon to vanish 
into darkness. 

It is a sweet calm evening, sign and emblem that 
peace reigns in the domain of the Infinite, and such 
a sign as is ever reminding man to cease his unholy 
contentions and strifes. Soon the knell will toll the 
29 


450 


CLARE LINCOLN, 


day’s departure to the shadowy land where its com- 
panions sleep, and its hopes and its fears, its griefs 
and its joys, will find a grave in the mighty Past. 

Three years have elapsed, and Richard and Clare 
are paying a visit to Pembroke Place. Doctor Hume 
and his sister are with them. The parents of Rich- 
ard, with their guests, are enjoying the evening calm 
within the shade of the grand old trees, and at their 
feet plays a little boy two years old, who as he looks 
upon the Doctor and Richard’s parents, lisps the 
name grandpapa and grandmamma. It is Richard the 
Third. 

Pembroke Place is fully restored. Again the pic- 
ture of grandfather James, with the sword of Bunker 
Hill by his side, looks down upon his children in the 
very room he used to occupy ; and again the rooms 
of Washington, Adams, and Franklin are restored to 
their places in the affections of the family. 

Clare and Richard live at “Evergreen Home” with 
the Doctor and his sister. The old servants retain 
their places, and everything moves on as of old, ex- 
cept that Clare has taken her place as the head of the 
household, the beloved of all the family. 

Kate and John have settled in a quiet home not 
far away, and the families are united by the strong- 
est affection and the sweetest memories. 

Richard is pushing his way to the head of his pro- 
fession, while John, with his business foresight and 
ability, is laying the foundations of a fortune. 

Steadman has received his legacy and entered 
mercantile pursuits, but still makes his home with 
the Parbery daughters. He has not married, but his 
recent purchase of a beautiful home, and the care 
with which he is adorning it, leads his many friends 


CONCLUSION. 451 

to suppose that great happiness is yet in store for 
him. 

Palgrave returned to Philadelphia, and is now one 
of the most celebrated surgeons in the country. He 
is not married, but seems wedded to his profession, 
and devotes his life to it. He has visited Clare since 
her marriage. The storm had spent its fury, his flam- 
ing passion had blazed and burned to ashes, and he 
looked upon and loved her as a sister only, and her 
child was his delight. 

And thus the married life of Clare and Richard 
glides on like a beautiful river, and as the years pass 
by they discover new beauties and new causes for 
praise and thanksgiving. To them their child is the 
precious gift of Heaven, the treasure of their holy 
love; and his beautiful face and tiny cry has ex- 
panded their hearts with a broader and more sacred 
love than they had known before. Looking upon 
their darling they see with a clearer faith and a more 
perfect trust. He has made their lives divine. 

In the midst of her happiness as wife and mother, 
Clare does not forget her old home by the sea, or the 
lonely grave there ; and with each recurring spring- 
time she visits the sacred spot with her offerings of 
love, while her mother’s grave in the cemetery is 
never neglected. 

Blessed now with an ample fortune, hers is a boun- 
tiful hand, and the poor and the afflicted far and near 
sound her praises, and among their voices are heard 
the prayers of many little orphan children, who in 
her sweet face behold a mother’s love. 

Thus lives and labors The Heroine of The Lost 
Will — The Fisherman’s Daughter. 


THE END. 



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